THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


VALLEY    OF   THE    NOON-DAY    SUN. 
(See  page  98.) 


THE 


HEART  OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES 


OR 


WESTERN   NORTH   CAROLINA 


COMPRISING 

ITS  TOPOGRAPHY,  HISTORY,  RESOURCES,   PEOPLE 

NARRATIVES,    INCIDENTS,    AND    PICTURES    OF    TRAVEL 

ADVENTURES  IN  HUNTING  AND  FISHING 

AND 
LEGENDS  OF  ITS  WILDERNESSES 


BY 

WILBUR  GJZEIGLER  AND   BEN  S.   GROSSCUP 

U — -. 


WITH  MAP  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


RALEIGH,  N.  C. 
ALFRED    WILLIAMS    &    CO 

CLEVELAND,  O. 
WILLIAM  W.  WILLIAMS 


Copyright,  1883 
By  WILBUR  G.  ZEIGLER  AND  BEN  S.  GROSSCUP 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  Culmination  of  the  Alleghanies —Area— The  Grand  Portal— The  Blue  Ridge 
—The  Smokies— Transverse  Ranges  of  the  Central  Plateau— Ancient  Mountains  7 

THE  NATIVE  MOUNTAINEERS. 

The  "Moon-eyed"  People— Ottari  and  Erati — Musical  Names — Legendary  Supersti- 
tions— The  Devil's  Footprints — His  Judgment  Seat — A  Sacred  Domain — Cherokee's 
Paradise  Gained— Aboriginal  Geography — Sevier's  Expedition — Decline  of  the 
Tribe— Younaguska— A  White  Chief— The  Qualla  Boundary— A  Ride  Through  the 
Reservation— Yellow  Hill— Constitution  and  Faith  of  the  Band— Characteristics— 
An  Indian  Maiden — Soco  Scenery  .  •  •  •  .  .  15 

IN  THE  HAUNTS  OF  THE  BLACK  BEAK. 

Bruin's  "  Usin'-Places" — Pointers — A  Hunting  Party — Stately  Forests — Wid  Medford 
— Sticking  a  Bear — Trials  of  Camping-Out — A  Picture — Frosted  Mountains — Amid 
the  Firs— Natural  History  —  In  Close  Quarters — Scenic  Features — The  Drive 
Begins — An  Ebon  Mountain— Judyculla  Old  Field — Calling  In  the  Drivers — A 
Snow  Storm — The  Vale  of  Pigeon — A  Picturesque  Party — Through  Laurel  Thick- 
ets— At  Bay — The  Death  Shot — Sam's  Knob— Bear  Traps— An  Old  Hunter's  Obser- 
vation ..........  45 

THE  'VALLEY  OF  THE  NOON-DAY  SUN. 

The  Nantihala — Woodland  Scenes — Monday's — Franklin — Evening  on  the  Little 
Tennessee — The  Alleghanies1  Grandest  Highway — The  Valley  River  Range — 
Lonely  Wilds — The  Prince  of  Sluggards — Murphy — A  Swiss  Landscape — An  Ani- 
mated Guide-post— At  the  "  Hoe-Down" — Apprehensions  of  Harm — A  Jug  in  My 
Hands — Pine  Torches — The  Shooting  Match — "  Hoss-Swoppers  "—Discouraging 


4  Contents. 

Comments— The  Fawning  Politician— Cat-Stairs— The  Anderson  Roughs— Camp-       * 

bell's  Cabin — No  Wash-Basin — The  Devil's  Chin — Soapstone  and  Marble  Quarries 

— A  Stinging  Reception — Deer — A  "  Corn-cracker  "— Robbinsville        .  .  79 

WITH  ROD  AND  LINE. 

The  Tow-head  Angler — The  Brook  Trout — Points — The  Paragon  Month  for  Fishing 
— Artificial  Ponds — Trip  to  the  Toe — Anti-Liquor — Rattlesnakes — Mitchell's  Peak 
— A  Ghost  Story — In  Weird  Out-lines  —  Burnsville— Pigeon  River  —  Cataluche— 
Mount  Starling  and  its  Black  Brothers — Whipping  the  Stream — Striking  a  Bargain 
— An  Urchin's  Ideas — Swain  County  Trout  Streams — In  Jackson  and  Macon — A 
Grand  Cataract — Trout,  Buck  and  Panther — In  the  Northwest  Counties  .  107 

AFTER   THE  ANTLERS. 

The  Heart  of  the  Smokies —Clingman's  Dome — Prospect  from  the  Summit — Mounted 
Sportsmen — A  Mountain  Bug-Bear — Charleston — The  Dungeon — A  Village  Store- 
keeper— Beautiful  River  Bends — At  the  Roses' — A  Typical  Mountain  Cabin — Quil's 
Wolf  story — A  Quick  Toilet — The  Footprints  of  Autumn — Knowledge  from  Ex- 
perience— The  Ridge  Stand— Buck  Ague — On  Long  Rock — A  Superb  Shot — The 
Buck  Vanishes — Acquitted  Through  Superstition — The  Hunter's  Hearthstone  .  137 

NATURAL  RESOURCES. 

The  "  Tar-Heel"  joke — Tobacco — Favorable  Conditions  for  Gold  Leaf— A  Ruinous 
Policy — Hickory— Shelby — In  Piedmont — Old  Field  Land — General  Clingman's 
Story — -Watauga  County — Unequalled  Pastures — Prices  of  Lands— Stock  Raising — 
The  French  Broad  Tobacco  Slopes — Fair  Figures — Henderson  and  Transylvania — 
The  Pigeon  Valley — The  Extreme  Southwest  Portion — Character  of  Wild  Range — 
Horticulture — The  Thermal  Zone— Forests  for  Manufacturers — The  Gold  Zone — 
Mica  Mines — Corundum — Iron  Deposits — The  Cranberry  Ore  Bank — Copper, 
Lead,  Tin,  and  Silver — Precious  Stones  .....  167 

HISTORICAL  RESUME. 

Early  Emigration — Daniel  Boone — The  "Pennsylvania  Dutch" — Conservatism— 
The  Revolutionary  Forces — The  King's  Mountain  Battle — "  Nollichucky  Jack"- 
The  Prisoner's  Escape — The  State  of  Franklin — The  Pioneers — Formation  of 
Counties — The  Western  North  Carolina  Railroad— During  the  Late  War— Restless 
Mountains — Scientific  Explorations— Calhoun's  Observation — The  Tragedy  of  the 
Black  Mountains — Later  Surveys — Representatives  of  the  Mountain  People  .  213 

IN  THE  SADDLE. 

Mounting  in  Asheville — A  Surly  Host — Bat  Cave — Titanic  Stone  Cliffs — Chimney 
Rock  Hotel— The  Pools— A  Sunset  Scene— The  Shaking  Bald— The  Spectre  Cav- 
alry Fight — A  Twilight  Gallop  Through  McDowell  County — Pleasant  Gardens — 
The  Catawba  Valleys— On  the  Linville  Range— Table  Rock  and  Hawk-Bill— The 
Canon — Innocents  Abroad — The  Fox  and  the  Pheasant — Linville  Falls — A  Dismal 


Contents.  5 

Woodland— Traveling  Families— Grandfather  Mountain— The  Ascent— A  Sunday 
Ride— Blowing  Rock— Boone— Valle  Crucis— Elk  River— The  Cranberry  Mines— 
On  the  Roan — Cloud-Land  Hotel — A  Hermit's  History — Above  a  Thunder  Storm 
— Bakersville— Traces  of  a  Prehistoric  People— The  Sink-Hole  and  Ray  Mica 
Mines — Cremation — Drawing  Rein  ......  237 

BEYOND  IRON   WAYS. 

Stage  Riding — The  Driver's  Story — Waynesville — Court  Week— Prescriptions  for 
Spirit.  Frument. — Before  the  Bar  -An  Out-Door  jury  Room — White  Sulphur 
Springs — A  Night's  Entertainment — The  Haunted  Cabin — A  Panther  Hunt — The 
Phantom  Millers — Light  on  the  Mysteries — Micadale — Recollections — Soco  Falls 
—Webster — An  Artist's  Trials — Above  the  Tuckasege  Cataract — Hamburg — A 

Cordial     Invitation — Cashier's     Valley — Whiteside  —  A     Coffee    Toper Horse 

Cove — Golden  Sands — Ravenel's  Magnificent  Site — Hints  for  the  Mounted  Tourist 
— The  Macon  Highlands — A  Demon  of  the  Abyss — A  Region  of  Cascades  and 
Cataracts— Through  Rabun  Gap— Clayton,  Georgia— The  Falls  of  Tallulah— 
An  Iron  Way  .........  279 

A  ZIGZAG  TOUR. 

The  Mountains  as  a  Summer  Resort — On  the  Western  North  Carolina  Railroad — 
Sparkling  Catawba  Springs — Glen  Alpine — Marion — Asheville — Romantic  Drives 
— Turnpike — Arden  Park — Hendersonville — Flat  Rock — The  Ante- War  Period — 
Caesar's  Head — Brevard — A  "Moonshine"  Expedition — A  Narrow  Escape — How 
Illicit  Whisky  is  Sold — Along  the  French  Broad — An  Excited  Countryman — Mar- 
shal— Warm  Springs — Shut-in  Gap — Paint  Rock — A  Picture  of  the  Sublime  .  333 

Tables  of  Altitude,  Population ,  Area  of  counties,  and  Temperature     .  .  371 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

1.  VALLEY  OF  THE  NOON-DAY  SUN        .....    Frontispiece. 

2.  UNAKA  KANOOS     .........     13 

3.  A  Soco  LASS     ....  ...                      37 

4.  MOUNT  PISGAH      .........    43 

5.  THE  FINAL  STRUGGLE  .           .            .           .           .            .            .74 

6.  THE  WARRIOR  BALD        .           .           .            .  .            .            .            .82 

/ 

7.  A  NARROW  WATER-WAY        .......        102 

8.  A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  TOE  .           .            .           .            .            .            .119 

9.  ON  THE  CATALUCHE  .           .           .           .           .           .           .128 

IO.  OCHLAWAHA  VALLEY  FROM  DUN  CRAGIN         .....  135 

it.  ON  THE  LITTLE  TENNESSEE             ......        145 

12.  SILVER  SPRINGS     ....  ....  173 

13.  THE  FRENCH  BROAD  CANON  ......        182 

14.  SWANNANOA  HOTEL          ........  211 

15.  SPARKLING  CATAWBA  SPRINGS  .           (           .           .           .        235 

16.  THE  WATAUGA  FALLS     .           .           .  .           .           .           .           .266 

17.  MACON  HIGHLANDS     .  ......        293 

18.  THE  JUNALUSKAS  .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .316 

19.  THE  CULLASAJA  FALLS          .......        329 

20.  UP  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        ........  338 

21.  BOLD  HEADLANDS       ........        354 

22.  CASCADES  OF  SPRING  CREEK      .  ....  369 


DR.   W.    C.  KERR'S  MAP  OF  WESTERN  NORTH  CAROLINA  (used  by  permission  of 
State  Board  of  Agriculture). 


INTRODUCTION. 


Oh,  holy  melody  of  peace ! 

Oh,  nature  in  thy  grandest  mood  ! 

I  love  thee  most  where  ways  are  rude 
Of  men,  and  wild  the  landscape's  face. 

T(f¥-HE  great  mountain  system  that  begins  in  that  part  of  Can- 
^J^s,  ada  south  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  under  the  name  of  the 
Alleghanies,  or  Appalachians,  extends  southward  for  1,300 
miles,  dying  out  in  the  Georgia  and  Alabama  foot-hills,  attains  its 
culmination  in  North  Carolina.  The  title  of  Appalachians,  as 
applied  by  De  Soto  to  the  whole  system,  is  preferred  by  many 
geographers.  Alleghany  is  the  old  Indian  word,  signifying 
"endless. "  It  is  ancient  in  its  origin,  and  in  spite  of  its  being 
anglicized  still  retains  its  soft,  liquid  sound.  It  was  not  until 
a  comparatively  late  year  that  Western  North  Carolina  was  dis- 
covered to  be  the  culminating  region.  Until  1835  the  moun- 
tains of  New  Hampshire  were  considered  the  loftiest  of  the 
Alleghanies,  and  Mount  Washington  was  placed  on  the  maps 
and  mentioned  in  text  books  as  the  highest  point  of  rock  in  the 
eastern  United  States.  It  now  holds  its  true  position  below 
several  summits  of  the  Black,  Smoky,  and  Balsam  ranges. 

7 


8  Introduction. 

From  the  barometrical  measurements  of  trustworthy  explorers, 
no  less  than  57  peaks  in  Western  North  Carolina  are  found  to 
be  over  6,000  feet  in  altitude.  The  more  accurate  observations 
being  taken  by  means  of  levels,  by  the  coast  survey,  may  slightly 
reduce  this  number. 

It  was  John  C.  Calhoun  who,  in  1825,  first  called  particular 
attention  to  the  southern  section  of  the  system.  His  attention 
had  been  turned  to  it  by  observing  the  numerous  wide  rivers, 
and  tributaries  of  noble  streams,  which,  like  throbbing  arteries, 
came  forth  from  all  sides  of  the  North  Carolina  mountains,  as 
from  the  chambers  of  a  mighty  heart.  He  saw  the  New  river 
flowing  towards  the  Ohio  ;  the  Watauga,  the  Nolechucky,  the 
French  Broad,  the  Big  Pigeon,  the  Little  Tennessee,  the  Hia- 
wassee,  and  their  thousand  tributaries,  pouring  from  the  central 
valleys  through  the  deep  gaps  of  the  Smokies  into  the  western 
plains,  and  uniting  with  the  branches  from  the  Cumberland 
mountains  to  form  the  stately  Tennessee ;  the  Yadkin,  the  Ca- 
tawba,  the  Broad,  the  Chatooga,  and  the  headwaters  of  the 
greatest  streams  south  of  Virginia  that  empty  into  the  Atlantic. 
From  these  observations  he  reasoned  rightly  that  between  the 
parallels  of  35  degrees  and  36  degrees  and  30  minutes,  north 
latitude,  lay  the  highest  plateau  and  mountains  of  the  Atlantic 
coast. 

The  region,  as  measured  in  a  bee  line  through  the  center  of 
the  plateau  from  Virginia  to  Georgia,  is  200  miles  in  length. 
Its  breadth,  from  the  summits  of  the  parallel  rampart  ranges  of 
the  Blue  Ridge  and  Smokies,  varies  from  15  to  65  miles,  and 
includes  within  this  measurement  a  plateau  expanse  of  6,000 
square  miles,  with  an  altitude  of  from  2,000  to  4,000  feet.  In- 
clusive of  the  eastern  slope,  the  off-shooting  spurs  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  and  the  South  mountains,  the  average  breadth  is  70  miles. 
A  portion  of  the  piedmont  section,  properly  a  part  of  the 
mountain  district,  would  be  taken  in  the  latter  measurement. 


The  Grand  Portal.  9 

The  counties  are  25  in  number,  reaching  from  Ashe,  Alleghany, 
and  Surrey  in  the  north  to  Macon,  Clay,  and  Cherokee  in  the 
south. 

After  the  bifurcation  of  the  Blue  Ridge  and  Smoky  moun- 
tains in  Virginia,  embracing  with  a  wide  sweep  several  counties 
of  that  state  and  Ashe,  Alleghany,  and  Watauga  of  North  Car- 
olina, they  almost  meet  again  in  the  northeastern  limit  of 
Mitchell  county.  Here,  in  collosal  conjunction,  through  their 
central  sentinel  heads,  the  two  ranges  seem  holding  conference 
before  making  their  final  separation.  The  Grandfather,  the 
highest  peak  of  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  oldest  mountain  of  the 
world,  stands  on  one  side ;  the  majestic  Roan  of  the  Smokies, 
on  the  other,  connected  by  the  short  transverse  upheaval  known 
as  Yellow  mountain.  This  spot  is  poetically  spoken  of  as  the 
grand  portal  to  the  inner  temple  of  the  Alleghanies ;  the  Grand- 
father and  the  Roan  being  the  two  pillars  between  which  hangs, 
forever  locked,  the  massive  gate  of  Yellow  mountain.  The 
high  table-land  of  Watauga  forms  the  green-carpeted  step  to 
it.  Trending  southwest,  between  the  two  separating  ranges,— 
the  Blue  Ridge  bending  like  a  bow,  and  the  Smokies  resembling 
the  bow-string, — lies  wrapped  in  its  robe  of  misty  purple,  the 
central  valley,  comprising  13  counties. 

The  western  rampart  range,  bearing  the  boundary  line 
between  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee,  lifts  its  crest  much 
higher  than  the  Blue  Ridge ;  is  more  massive  in  its  proportions; 
less  straggling  in  its  contour ;  but  with  lower  gaps  or  gorges, 
narrow  and  rugged,  through  which  flow  all  the  rivers  of  the 
plateau.  Generically  known  as  the  Smoky  mountains,  it  is 
by  the  river  gorges  divided  into  separate  sections,  each  of  which 
has  its  peculiar  name.  The  most  northerly  of  these  sections  is 
termed  the  Stone  mountains ;  then  follow  the  Iron,  Bald,  Great 
Smoky,  Unaka,  and  the  Frog  mountains  of  Georgia.  Twenty- 
three  peaks  of  the  Smoky  mountains  are  over  6,000  feet  in  alti- 


io  Introduction. 

tilde,  the  loftiest  being  Clingman's  Dome,  6,660  feet.  The 
deepest  gap  is  that  of  the  Little  Tennessee,  i,  1 14  feet 

The  eastern  rampart  range — the  Blue  Ridge — trends  south- 
ward with  the  convolutions  of  a  snake ;  its  undulations  rising 
seldom  above  a  mile  in  altitude  and  sinking  sometimes  so  low 
that,  in  passing  through  its  wide  gaps,  one  is  not  aware  that  he 
is  crossing  a  mountain  range,  the  fact  being  concealed  by  the 
parallel  spurs  rising,  in  many  instances,  to  a  higher  altitude  than 
their  parent  chain.  In  spite  of  its  depressions,  and,  when  com- 
pared with  the  Smoky  mountains,  the  low  average  elevation  of 
its  crest,  it  is  the  water-shed  of  the  system.  Not  a  stream  sev- 
ers it.  On  the  east  every  stream  sweeps  toward  the  Atlantic. 
On  the  west  the  waters  of  its  slopes  are  joined  at  its  base  line  by 
those  flowing  down  the  east  or  south  side  of  the  Smoky  moun- 
tains ;  and,  mingling  with  the  latter,  pour  through  the  deep 
passes  of  the  loftier  range  into  the  valley  of  the  western  con- 
fluent of  the  Tennessee. 

From  the  Blue  Ridge  is  thrown  off  many  short  ranges,  trend- 
ing east  and  south  across  the  submontane  plateau.  In  charac- 
ter of  outline  they  are  similar  to  the  parent  chain.  This  plateau, 
known  as  the  Piedmont,  walled  on  the  west  by  the  Blue  Ridger 
diversified  by  mountains  and  hills,  and  seamed  by  the  Yadkin, 
Catawba,  and  Broad  rivers  and  their  affluents,  incloses  in  its 
limits  many  beautiful  and  fertile  valleys.  The  outer  slope  of 
the  Blue  Ridge,  overlooking  Piedmont,  is  abrupt  in  its  descent 
and  presents  wild  and  picturesque  features ;  cascades  marking 
the  channels  of  the  streams.  Further  south,  where  the  range 
bends  around  the  South  Carolina  and  Georgia  lines,  bold  escarp- 
ments of  rock  and  ragged  pine-set  declivities,  seamed  by 
cataracts,  and  beaten  on  by  a  hot  and  sultry  sun,  break  sheer 
off  into  the  southern  plains.  The  inner  slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
throughout  its  entire  length  from  Virginia  to  Georgia,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  outer  slope,  is  more  gentle  in  its  descent ;  is 


The  Central  Plateau.  1 1 

heavily  wooded  and  diversified  with  clearings.  The  Smoky 
mountains  present  similar  characteristics  —  richly  wooded 
descents  toward  the  central  valley ;  rocky  and  sterile  fronts 
toward  Tennessee. 

The  reader  must  not  imagine  that  the  central  valley  or 
plateau,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  is  a  level  or  bowl- 
shaped  expanse  between  the  ranges  described.  On  the  con- 
trary, its  surface  is  so  broken  by  transverse  mountain  ranges 
and  their  foot-hills  that,  by  means  of  vision  alone,  the  observer 
from  no  one  point  can  obtain  a  correct  idea  of  the  structural 
character  of  the  region.  From  the  loftiest  peaks,  he  can  see 
the  encircling  ranges  and  the  level  lands  beyond  their  outer 
slopes  ;  but  below  him  is  rolled  an  inner  sea  of  mountains, 
which,  when  looked  upon  in  some  directions,  seems  of  limitless 
expanse.  The  transverse  chains,  comprising  the  Yellow  moun- 
tain, the  Black,  Newfound,  Balsam,  Cowee,  Nantihala,  and 
Valley  River  mountains,  hold  a  majority  of  the  highest  sum- 
mits of  the  Alleghanies. 

The  Black  mountain  chain,  the  highest  of  these  ranges,  is 
only  20  miles  long,  and  has  18  peaks  in  altitude  over  6,  ooo  feet ; 
the  highest  of  which,  Mitchell's  Peak,  6,711  feet  above  sea- 
level,  is  the  sovereign  mountain  of  the  Alleghanies.  The  Bal- 
sam range,  the  longest  of  the  transverse  chains,  is  45  miles  in 
length  and  crested  by  15  wooded  pinnacles  over  6,000  feet 
high.  The  parallel  cross-chains  have,  nestling  between  their 
slopes,  central  valleys,  varying  in  length  and  width,  and  open- 
ing back  into  little  vales  between  the  foot-hills  and  branching 
spurs.  Through  the  lowest  dip  of  each  great  valley,  sweeps 
toward  the  Smokies  a  wide,  crystal  river  fed  by  its  tributaries 
from  the  mountain  heights. 

The  great  valleys,  or  the  distinct  regions  drained  each  by  one 
of  the  rivers  which  cut  asunder  the  Smokies,  are  six  in  number. 
The  extreme  northern  part  of  the  state  is  drained  by  the  New 


1 2  Introduction. 

river  and  the  Watauga.  Between  the  Yellow  mountain  and  the 
Blacks  lies  that  deeply  embosomed  valley  region  watered  by 
by  the  head-springs  of  the  Nolechucky.  Next  comes  the  widest 
and  longest  plain  of  the  mountain  section — the  valley  of  the 
French  Broad.  The  Big  Pigeon  winds  through  the  high  plateau 
between  the  Newfound  and  Balsam  mountains.  The  region  of 
the  Little  Tennessee  comprises  not  only  the  wide  lands  along 
its  own  banks,  but  those  along  its  great  forks — the  Tuckasege, 
Nantihala,  and  Ocona  Lufta.  West  of  the  Valley  River  moun- 
tains the  country  is  drained  by  the  Hiawassee. 

Geologically  speaking,  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina  are 
the  oldest  in  the  world.  During  the  period  of  general  up- 
heavals and  subsidences  of  the  crust  of  the  earth,  these  moun- 
tains were  the  only  lands  remaining  throughout  firm  above  the 
surface  of  the  ocean.  Rocks  of  the  Archaean  or  earliest  age 
are  exposed,  and  with  their  edges  turned  at  a  high  angle  lie  up- 
on the  beds  of  later  periods  of  formation.  North  of  the  south- 
ern boundary  of  Virginia,  the  structural  character  of  the  moun- 
tains is  different. 

The  entire  region  is  mantled  with  forests  to  the  summit  of 
every  peak ;  the  valleys  and  many  of  the  adjacent  coves  are 
cleared  and  inhabited  by  a  happy,  healthy,  and  hospitable  peo- 
ple. It  is  rich  in  picturesque  scenery — romantic  rivers,  luxu- 
riant forests,  majestic  mountain  heights,  valleys  of  exquisite 
beauty,  quaint  villages,  cliffs,  and  waterfalls.  It  is  rich  in  a 
life-giving  climate,  brilliant  skies,  fertile  lands,  pastured  steeps, 
and  timber  and  mineral  wealth. 

It  is  of  this  country — the  Heart  of  the  Alleghanies — that  in 
the  following  pages  we  have  treated  in  as  full,  concise,  and  en- 
tertaining a  manner  as  we  could  conceive  and  carry  into  execu- 
tion. 


UNAKA  KANOOS. 


THE  NATIVE  MOUNTAINEERS 


All  kinds  of  creatures  stand  and  fall 

By  strength  of  prowess  or  of  wit; 
'Tis  God's  appointment  who  must  sway, 

And  who  is  to  submit. 

—  Wordsworth. 

E  are  excluded  from  a  knowledge  of  ancient  American 
history  by  an  impenetrable  veil  of  mystery  and  silence. 
The  past  has  left  us  only  relics — relics  of  things  and  relics  of 
races-^which  are  interpreted  by  an  unreined  imagination.  Be- 
fore Europeans  set  foot  on  the  western  shore  of  the  Atlantic, 
before  the  Indians  occupied  the  forest  continent,  there  dwelt  on 
all  the  sunniest  plains  and  fertile  valleys  a  race  well  advanced  in 
mechanical  and  aesthetic  art,  skilled  in  war  and  consecrated  in 
religion.  It  came  and  flourished  and  perished,  leaving  only 
monuments  of  its  existence  in  the  form  of  works  of  earth,  and 
works  of  stone — mounds,  forts,  and  pottery.  The  old  mounds 
scattered  everywhere  are  the  sepulchres  of  illustrious  dead,  and 
because  of  their  number,  the  race  has  been  designated  the 
"  Mound  Builders."  They  inhabited,  among  other  places,  the 

15 


1 6  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

southern  Alleghanies,  the  largest  number  of  mounds  being 
found  in  the  upper  valley  of  the  Little  Tennessee.  Most  of  the 
rich  mica  dikes  bear  evidence  of  having  been  worked  centuries 
ago.  The  marks  of  stone  picks  may  still  be  seen  upon  the  soft 
feldspar  with  which  the  mica  is  associated,  and  tunnels  and 
shafts  show  some  knowledge  of  mining.  The  fact  that  a  great 
many  ancient  mounds  all  over  the  country  contain  skeletons, 
encased  in  mica  plates,  associates  these  diggings  with  the  build- 
ers of  the  mounds. 

The  earliest  traditional  knowledge  we  have  of  the  habitation 
of  the  southern  highlands  has  been  handed  down  by  the  Chero- 
kees.  They  say  that  before  they  conquered  the  country  and 
settled  in  the  valleys,  the  inhabitants  were  ''moon-eyed,"  that 
is,  were  unable  to  see  during  certain  phases  of  the  moon.  Dur- 
ing a  period  of  blindness,  the  Creeks  swept  through  the 
mountain  passes,  up  the  valleys,  and  annihilated  the  race.  The 
Cherokees  in  turn  conquered  the  Creeks,  with  great  slaughter, 
which  must  have  occurred  at  a  very  ancient  date,  for  the 
country  of  their  conquest  and  adoption  is  the  seat  of  their  re- 
ligious legends  and  traditional  romances. 

No  definite  boundaries  can  be  assigned  to  the  land  ef  any 
Indian  tribe,  much  less  a  nation  of  proud  and  warlike  mountain- 
eers who  were  happy  only  when  carrying  bloodied  tomahawks 
into  an  enemy's  country.  The  tribe  was  distinguished  by  two 
great  geographical  divisions,  the  Ottari,  signifying  "among  the 
mountains,"  and  the  Erati,  signifying  "lowland."  Provincial 
historians  have  designated  them  as  "In  the  Valley"  and 
"Overhill"  towns,  the  great  highland  belt  between  the  Blue 
Ridge  and  Smoky  mountains  being  designated  as  a  valley. 
The  ancient  realm  of  the  tribe  may,  in  a  general  way,  be  de- 
scribed as  the  headwater  valleys  of  the  Yadkin  and  Catawba 
on  the  east;  of  the  Keowee,  Tugaloo,  Flint,  Etowa  and  Coosa 
on  the  south,  and  the  several  tributaries  of  the  Tennessee 


Beauty  of  Indian  Names.  17 

on  the  west.  There  were  60  towns,  and  6,000  fighting  men 
could  at  any  time  be  called  by  the  grand  chief  to  the  war  path. 
It  was  the  military  prowess  of  these  warriors  that  gave  to  the 
nation  the  most  picturesque  and  most  secure  home  of  all  the 
American  tribes.  A  keen  and  delicate  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful  in  nature,  as  associated  with  the  grandeur  of  their 
surroundings,  inspired  them  to  unparalleled  heroism  in  its  de- 
fense against  intrusion.  They  successfully  withstood  neighbor- 
ing tribes,  but  their  contest  with  the  whites' was  a  contest  with 
destiny,  in  which  they  yielded  only  after  a  long  and  bloody 
struggle.  The  ancient  nation  of  the  mountains,  expelled 
from  its  home,  crippled  and  enervated,  but  improved  in 
some  respects,  has  found  a  home  in-  the  less  picturesque  and 
distant  west ;  but  has  left  a  dissevered  and  withered  limb  which, 
like  a  fossil,  merely  reminds  us  of  a  bygone  period  of  history. 

If  any  one  doubts  that  the  Cherokees  possessed  an  apprecia- 
tive love  of  country  and  a  genuine  sympathy  with  nature,  let  him 
turn  to  his  map,  and  pronounce  those  Indian  names  which  have 
not  been  cruelly,  almost  criminally,  displaced  by  English  com- 
mon-places. Let  him  remember  too  that  there  is  a  meaning  in 
their  euphony,  and  a  suggestiveness  in  their  melody.  It  is  a 
grievous  fault,  the  more  grievous  because  it  is  irreparable,  that 
so  many  of  the  bold  streams  which  thunder  down  forest  slopes 
and  through  echoing  canons,  have  lost  those  designations 
whose  syllables  glide  from  the  tongue  in  harmony  with  the  music 
of  the  crystal  currents.  Of  many  natural  features  the  names 
are  preserved,  but  their  meanings  have  been  lost. 

East  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  North  Carolina,  very  few  geo- 
graphical names  of  Indian  origin  have  survived.  In  the  valley 
of  the  French  Broad  there  is  also  a  barrenness  of  prehistoric 
nomenclature.  From  this  circumstance  it  is  argued,  and  the 
argument  is  well  sustained,  that  there  was  no  permanent  habi- 
tation of  Indians  in  these  two  localities.  The  villages  were 


1 8  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

located  in  valley  ,  and  were  known  by  the  name  of  the  streams. 
In  some  instances,  traditions  became  associated  with  the  name, 
and  in  them  we  have  a  key  to  an  unwritten  scroll.  A  village, 
furthermore,  gave  to  a  region  an  importance  which  made  its 
name  widely  known,  not  only  in  the  tribe  but  among  traders 
and  other  white  adventurers,  and  thus  made  it  a  fixture.  There 
is  the  additional  negative  evidence  of  no  permanent  habitation, 
in  the  fact  that  mention  is  no  where  made,  in  the  annals  of  mili- 
tary expeditions  against  the  Indians,  of  villages  east  of  the 
Balsam  mountains.  Hunters  and  warriors  penetrated  the 
forests  for  game,  and  carried  the  tomahawk  to  every  frontier, 
frequently  making  the  Upper  Catawba  and  French  Broad 
valleys  their  camping  ground.  While  we  know  nothing  about 
the  facts,  the  presumption  is  reasonable  that  at  least  all  the 
larger  rivers  and  their  tributaries  were  given  names  by  the  In- 
dians, which  perished  with  the  change  of  race  and  ownership. 

Catawba  is  not  of  Cherokee  origin.  The  river  takes  its  name 
from  the  tribe  which  inhabited  its  valley  until  a  recent  date ; 
South  Carolina.  It  was  a  species  of  vandalism  to  substitute 
French  Broad  for  Agiqua  and  Tocheeostee,  the  former  being 
the  name  applied  by  the  Erati,  or  "over  the  mountain" 
Cherokees,  to  the  lower  valley,  and  the  latter  by  the  Ottari,  or 
"  valley"  towns,  to  the  upper  or  North  Carolina  section  below 
Asheville.  "Racing  river"  is  a  literal  translation  of  the  term 
Tocheeostee.  Above  Asheville,  where  the  stream  is  placid 
and  winds  snake-like  through  the  wide  alluvions,  it  took  the 
name  Zillicoah. 

Swanannoa  is  one  of  the  most  resonant  of  Indian  names, 
though  in  being  accommodated  to  English  orthography  it  has 
lost  much  of  its  music.  It  would  be  impossible  to  indicate  the 
original  pronunciation.  I  can,  perhaps,  tell  you  nearer  how  to 
utter  it.  Begin  with  a  suppressed  sound  of  the  letter  "s,"  then  with 
tongue  and  palate  lowered,  utter  the  vowel  sound  of  "a"  in  swan 


Definition  of  Indian  Names.  19 

four  times  in  quick  succession,  giving  to  the  first  as  much  time  as 
to  the  second  two,  and  raise  the  voice  one  note  on  the  last.  The 
word  is  said  to  have  been  derived  from  the  sound  made  by  a 
raven's  wing  as  it  sweeps  through  the  air.  Before  white  settlers 
came  into  the  country  that  species  of  bird  was  very  plentiful 
along  all  the  streams,  and  at  their  points  of  confluence  were  its 
favorite  roosting  places,  whence,  aided  by  the  scent  of  the 
water,  it  sallied  up  stream  in  search  of  food.  Hundreds  col- 
lected at  the  mouth  of  the  Swanannoa,  and  the  name  was  the 
oft  repeated  imitation,  by  the  voice,  of  the  music  of  their  wings, 
as  they  whizzed  past  the  morning  camp-fire  of  the  hunter  or  war- 
rior bands,  on  the  bank  of  the  stream.  The  hungry,  homely,' 
and  hated  raven  is  indeed  an  humble  origin  for  a  name  so  beau- 
tiful, applied  to  an  object  so  much  applauded  for  its  beauty. 

If  the  upper  tributaries  of  the  French  Broad  ever  had  names 
worthy  of  their  character  which  have  been  displaced  by  such 
colloquialisms  as  Cathey's  creek,  Davidson's  river,  Mills'  river, 
and  Little  river,  they  perished  with  the  race  more  in  sympathy 
with  nature  than  the  inhabitants  of  the  last  century.  By  some 
chance  that  gentle  stream  which  snakes  through  the  flat  valley 
of  Henderson  county,  has  preserved  an  Indian  designation, 
though  it  is  probably  a  borrowed  one.  Ocklawaha  is  the  name 
which  we  find  in  old  legal  documents,  and  its  tributary,  which 
gives  the  county's  capital  a  peninsular  situation,  is  designated 
the  Little  Ocklawaha — a  barbarous  mixture  of  Indian  and  Eng- 
lish. The  word  is  of  Seminole  origin,  and  means  ''slowly 
moving  water."  It  was  applied  to  a  river  in  Florida  by  the 
natives,  and  to  this  Carolina  stream  by  the  "low  country" 
people  who  found  summer  homes  beyond  the  Blue  Ridge,  be- 
cause of  the  applicability  of  the  name  and  its  resemblance  in 
some  other  respects  to  the  original  Ochlawaha.  Reverence  of 
antiquity  and  the  geographical  genius  of  the  red  race,  can  not 
be  claimed  as  an  argument  in  favor  of  the  re-substitution  of  the 


2O  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

Indian  designation  for  the  present  universally  used  colloquial- 
ism, "  Mud  creek,"  as  homely  as  it  is  false  in  the  idea  it  sug- 
gests. Ochlawaha  is  not  only  more  pleasing  to  the  ear,  but 
gives  a  much  more  faithful  description  of  the  landscape  feature 
designated,  and  hence  has  sufficient  claims  to  the  public  recog- 
nition which  we  take  the  lead  in  giving  it. 

Going  southward,  and  crossing  the  Blue  Ridge  and  Green 
river,  which  derives  its  name  from  the  tint  of  its  water,  we 
come  to  the  Saluda  range,  the  fountain  of  a  river  of  the  same 
name.  The  word  is  of  Catawba  origin,  as  is  also  Estatoa. 
Toxaway,  or  more  properly  spelled  Tochawha,  is  Cherokee, 
but  we  have  no  satisfactory  interpretation  of  its  meaning. 

The  Balsams  are  rich  in  legendary  superstitions.  The  gloom 
of*  their  dark  solitudes  fills  even  the  hurried  tourist  with  an  un- 
accountable fear,  and  makes  it  impossible  for  him  to  suppress 
the  recollection  of  tales  of  ghosts  and  goblins  upon  which  his 
childish  imagination  was  fed.  The  mountains  assume  mysteri- 
ous shapes,  projecting  rocks  seem  to  stand  beckoning ;  and 
the  echo  of  cascades  falls  upon  the  ear  like  ominous  warnings. 
No  wonder  then,  that  it  was  a  region  peopled  by  pagan  super- 
stition, with  other  spirits  than  human.  It  is  the  instinct  of  the 
human  mind,  no  matter  what  may  be  its  degree  of  cultivation, 
to  seek  an  explanation  of  things.  When  natural  causes  can 
not  be  discovered  for  the  phenomena  of  nature,  the  supernatural 
is  drawn  upon.  The  Cherokees  knew  no  natural  reason  Avhy 
the  tops  of  high  mountains  should  be  treeless,  but  having  faith 
in  a  personal  devil  they  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
"  bald  "  spots  must  be  the  prints  of  his  horrid  feet  as  he  walked 
with  giant  strides  from  peak  to  peak. 

Near  the  Great  Divide,  between  the  waters  of  Pigeon  'river 
and  French  Broad,  is  situated  the  Devil's  Court-house,  which 
rises  to  an  altitude  of  6,049  ^eet-  Near  it  is  Court-house  moun- 
tain. At  both  places  his  Satanic  majesty  was  believed  to  sit  in 


The  DeviFs  Judgment  Seat.  2 1 

judgment,  and  doom  to  punishment  all  who  had  been  wayward 
in  courage,  or  had  departed  from  a  strict  code  of  virtue,  though 
bravery  in  war  atoned  for  a  multitude  of  sins. 

The  devil  had  besides  these  a  supreme  court-house,  where 
finally  all  mankind  would  be  summoned  for  trial.  This  was  one 
of  the  great  precipices  of  the  Whiteside  mountain,  situated  in 
Jackson  county,  at  the  southern  terminus  of  the  Cowee  range. 
There  is  no  wonder  that  the  simple  minded  pagans  supposed 
that  nature  had  dedicated  this  structure  to  supernatural  use,  for 
it  excels  in  grandeur  the  most  stupendous  works  of  human  hands. 
It  consists  of  a  perpendicular  wall  of  granite,  so  curved  as 
to  form  an  arc  more  than  a  mile  long,  and  rises  1,800  feet 
from  the  moss-blanketed  rocks  which  form  the  pavement 
of  an  enclosed  court.  About  half  way  up  there  is  a  shelf-like 
projection,  not  more  than  two  feet  wide,  which  leads  from  one 
side  to  a  cave.  This  was  supposed  to  be  the  inner  room  .of  the 
great  temple,  whence  the  judge  of  human  conduct  would  come 
to  pronounce  sentence  at  the  end  of  the  world.  That  this  im- 
portant business  should  be  entrusted  to  Satan  is  a  mythological 
incongruity.  A  certain  sorcerer,  or  medicine-man,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  popular  superstition  about  the  place,  made  the  cave 
his  home,  going  in  and  out  by  the  narrow  shelf.  He  announced 
that  he  was  in  league  with  the  spirits  of  the  next  world,  and 
consequently  could  go  in  and  out  with  perfect  safety,  which  fact 
caused  him  to  be  recognized  as  a  great  man.  There  have  been 
found,  in  the  vicinity  of  Whiteside,  Indian  ladders — that  is,  trees 
with  the  limbs  trimmed  so  as  to  form  steps.  What  they  could 
have  been  used  for  we  are  unable  to  conjecture  ;  certainly  not 
to  scale  the  mountain  sides,  for  such  a  thing  would  be  impossi- 
ble. 

Old  Field  mountain,  in  the  Balsam  range,  derives  its  name 
from  the  tradition  that  it  was  Satan's  bed-chamber.  The  Cher- 
okees  of  a  recent  generation  affirm  that  his  royal  majesty  was 


22  The  Native  Mountaineers, 

often  seen  oy  their  forefathers,  and  even  some  of  the  first  white 
settlers  had  knowledge  of  his  presence.  On  the  top  of  the 
mountain  there  is  a  prairie-like  tract,  almost  level,  reached  by 
steep  slopes  covered  with  thickets  of  balsam  and  rhododendron, 
which  seem  to  garrison  the  reputed  sacred  domain.  It  was  un- 
derstood among  the  Indians  to  be  forbidden  territory,  but  a 
party  one  day  permitted  their  curiosity  to  tempt  them.  They 
forced  a  way  through  the  entangled  thickets,  and  with  merri- 
ment entered  the  open  ground.  Aroused  from  sleep  and 
enraged  by  their  audacious  intrusion,  the  devil,  taking  the  form 
of  an  immense  snake,  assaulted  the  party  and  swallowed  50 
of  them  before  the  thicket  could  be  regained. 

Among  the  first  whites  who  settled  among  the  Indians  and 
traded  with  them,  was  a  party  of  hunters  who  used  this  super- 
stition to  escape  punishment  for  their  reprehensible  conduct. 
They  reported  that  they  were  in  league  with  the  great  spirit  of 
evil,  and  to  prove  that  they  were,  frequented  this  "old  field." 
They  described  his  bed,  under  a  large  overhanging  rock,  as  a 
model  of  neatness.  They  had  frequently  thrown  into  it  stones 
and  brushwood  during  the  day,  while  the  master  was  out,  but 
the  place  was  invariably  as  clean  the  next  morning  ''as  if  it  had 
been  brushed  with  a  bunch  of  feathers." 

But  there  is  another  legend  of  the  Balsams  more  significant 
than  any  of  these.  It  is  the  Paradise  Gained  of  Cherokee 
mythology,  and  bears  some  distant  resemblance  to  the  Chris- 
tian doctrine  of  mediation.  The  Indians  believed  that  they 
were  originally  mortal  in  spirit  as  well  as  body,  but  above  the 
blue  vault  of  heaven  there  was,  inhabited  by  a  celestial  race,  a 
forest  into  which  the  highest  mountains  lifted  their  dark  sum- 
mits. It  is  a  fact  worth  noticing  that,  while  the  priests  of  the 
orient  described  heaven  as  a  great  city  with  streets  of  gold  and 
gates  of  pearl  and  fine  gems,  the  tribes  of  the  western  conti- 


Eternity  Secured.  23 

nent  aspired  to  nothing  beyond  the  perpetual  enjoyment  of  wild 
nature. 

The  mediator,  by  whom  eternal  life  was  secured  for  the  Indian 
mountaineers,  was  a  maiden  of  their  own  tribe.  Allured  by  the 
haunting  sound  and  diamond  sparkle  of  a  mountain  stream,  she 
wandered  far  up  into  a  solitary  glen,  where  the  azalea,  the  kal 
mia,  and  the  rhododendron  brilliantly  embellished  the  deep, 
shaded  slopes,  and  filled  the  air  with  their  delicate  perfume. 
The  crystal  stream  wound  its  crooked  way  between  moss  cov- 
ered rocks  over  which  tall  ferns  bowed  their  graceful  stems. 
Enchanted  by  the  scene  she  seated  herself  upon  the  soft  moss 
and  overcome  by  fatigue  was  soon  asleep.  The  dream  picture 
of  a  fairyland  was  presently  broken  by  the  soft  touch  of  a 
strange  hand.  The  spirit  of  her  dream  occupied  a  place  at  her 
side,  and  wooing,  won  her  for  his  bride. 

Her  supposed  abduction  caused  great  excitement  among  her 
people,  who  made  diligent  search  for  her  recovery  in  their 
own  villages.  Being  unsuccessful,  they  made  war  upon  the 
neighboring  tribes  in  the  hope  of  finding  the  place  of  her  con- 
cealment. Grieved  because  of  so  much  bloodshed  and  sorrow, 
she  besought  the  great  chief  of  the  eternal  hunting  grounds  to 
make  retribution.  She  was  accordingly  appointed  to  call  a 
council  of  her  people  at  the  forks  of  the  Wayeh  (Pigeon) 
river.  She  appeared  unto  the  chiefs  in  a  dream,  and  charged 
them  to  meet  the  spirits  of  the  hunting  ground  with  fear  and 
reverence. 

At  the  hour  appointed  the  head  men  of  the  Cherokees  as- 
sembled. The  high  Balsam  peaks  were  shaken  by  thunder  and 
aglare  with  lightning'.  The  cloud,  as  black  as  midnight,  settled 
over  the  valley ;  then  lifted,  leaving  upon  a  large  rock  a  cluster 
of  strange  men,  armed  and  painted  as  for  war.  An  enraged 
brother  of  the  abducted  maiden  swung  his  tomahawk,  and  raised 
the  war  whoop ;  but  a  swift  thunderbolt  dispatched  him  before 


24  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

the   echo  had  died  in  the  hills.      The  chiefs,  terror-stricken,  fled 
to  their  towns. 

The  bride,  grieved  by  the  death  of  her  brother  and  the  fail- 
ure of  the  council,  prepared  to  abandon  her  new  home  and 
return  to  her  kindred  in  the  valleys.  To  reconcile  her  the  pro- 
mise was  granted  that  all  brave  warriors  and  their  faithful  women 
should  have  an  eternal  home  in  the  happy  hunting  ground 
above,  after  death.  The  great  chief  of  the  forest  beyond  the 
clouds  became  the  guardian  spirit  of  the  Cherokees.  All  deaths, 
either  from  wounds  in  battle  or  disease,  were  attributed  to  his 
desire  to  make  additions  to  the  celestial  hunting  ground,  or  on 
the  other  hand,  to  his  wrath  which  might  cause  their  unfortunate 
spirits  to  be  turned  over  to  the  disposition  of  the  evil  genius  of 
the  mountain  tops.  Plagues  and  epidemics  were  sometimes 
supposed  to  be  the  work  of  sorcerers,  witches  and  monsters, 
human  and  superhuman.  Once  during  an  epidemic  of  small- 
pox, so  says  a  traditional  tale,  a  devil  in  human  form  was  tracked 
to  the  headwaters  of  Tusquittee,  where  he  was  apprehended  in 
a  cave.  They  saluted  him  with  a  volley  of  poisoned  arrows, 
which  he  tossed  back  with  derisive  laughter.  After  several 
repetitions  with  the  same  result,  a  bird  spoke  to  the  disheart- 
ened warriors,  telling  them  that  their  enemy  was  invulnerable, 
except  one  finger  which,  if  hit,  would  cause  his  instant  death. 
As  in  the  case  of  Achilles,  of  Troy,  the  vulnerable  spot  re- 
ceived a  fatal  shot,  and  the  plague  ceased  its  ravages.  The  bird 
was  of  the  variety  of  little  yellow  songsters — a  variety  protected 
as  sacred  down  to  within  the  memory  of  the  man  from  whom 
the  writer  received  this  legend. 

We  return  now  to  the  discussion  of  Indian  names,  with  which 
the  narration  of  incidents,  connected  with  the  geographical  no- 
menclature of  the  Balsam  mountains  has  slightly  interfered. 
The  Indian  names  of  the  French  Broad  have  already  been  given. 
The  present  name  has  an  historical  signification  to  commend  its 


Cherokee  Etymology.  25 

continued  use,  if  nothing  more.  Prior  to  the  treaty  made 
between  England  and  France  in  1763,  the  latter  nation  claimed 
all  the  country  drained  by  the  Mississippi,  the  ground  of  this 
claim  being  actual  settlement  near  the  mouth  of  that  river  and 
at  several  places  along  its  course.  International  customs  gave 
the  claim  validity,  though  the  English  never  admitted  it.  Adair, 
an  early  historian,  says :  * '  Louisiana  stretched  to  the  head- 
springs of  the  Alleghany  and  Monongahela,  of  the  Kenawha  and 
Tennessee.  Half  a  mile  from  the  southern  branch  of  the 
Savannah  is  Herbert'  s  spring,  which  flows  into  the  Mississippi. 
Strangers  who  drank  of  it,  would  say  they  had  tasted  of  French 
waters."  In  like  manner,  traders  and  hunters  from  the  Atlantic 
settlements,  in  passing  from  the  headwaters  of  Broad  river  over 
the  Blue  Ridge,  and  coming  to  the  streams  with  which  they 
inosculate,  would  hear,  as  Adair  did,  of  the  French  claim,  and 
call  it  most  naturally  ."  French  Broad." 

Watauga  and  Nollichucky  are  Cherokee  designations,  but  the 
latter  should  be  spelled  Nouachuneh.  We  are  unable  to  learn 
the  original  name  of  New  river.  Estatoa,  flowing  from  the  Black 
mountains,  has  been  shortened  to  "Toe."  The  Pigeon  was 
originally  Wayeh,  which  has  been  simply  translated. 

The  reader  should  be  reminded  before  going  further  into  this 
subject  that  absolute  accuracy  in  the  importation  of  the  Chero- 
kee into  our  language  cannot  be  attained.  In  the  first  place  no 
combination  of  English  letters  can  be  made  to  represent  the 
original  sounds,  nor  can  they  be  uttered  by  the  English  mouth. 
Then  again,  the  same  syllables  with  different  inflections 
have  different  meanings.  The  English  spelling  is  merely  an 
attempt  at  imitation,  and  the  meanings,  given  by  those  who  pro- 
fess to  know,  are  sometimes  only  guesses.  In  spelling,  uniform- 
ity is  chiefly  to  be  sought.  One  rule,  however,  should  be 
followed  implicitly :  never  use  a  letter  whose  sound  requires 
closing  the  lips.  A  Cherokee  said  everything  with  his  mouth 


26  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

open.  "Tsaraghee  "  would  come  nearest  a  correct  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  name  of  the  tribe,  yet  in  its  application  to  a  moun- 
tain in  Georgia  it  is  "  Currahee." 

The  country  occupied  by  the  Cherokees  down  to  within  the 
memory  of  men  still  living,  embraced  the  valleys  west  of  the 
Balsam  mountains.  The  first  white  settlers  adopted  the  geo- 
graphical nomenclature  of  the  natives,  which  is  still  retained. 
Junaluska,  the  name  of  the  picturesque  mountain  group  over- 
looking the  Richland  and  Scott's  creek  valleys,  was  applied  by 
white  settlers  in  honor  of  the  intrepid  war  chief  who  command- 
ed the  Indian  forces  in  Alabama,  belonging  to  Jackson's  army 
in  the  war  of  1812.  He  was  an  exemplary  man,  honored  by 
his  people  and  respected  by  the  whites.  The  State,  in  recogni- 
tion of  his  military  services,  granted  him  a  boundary  of  land  in 
the  Cheowah  valley,  known  as  the  Junaluska  farm,  on  which  he 
was  buried  in  1847. 

Tennessee,  the  name  of  the  largest  river  in  upper  Carolina, 
is  of  Indian  origin,  but  was  written  by  the  first  explorers,  "  Ten- 
nasee. "  Kalamutchee  was  the  name  of  the  main  stream  formed 
by  the  Clinch  and  Holston.  The  French  named  the  whole 
river  Cosquinambeaux  which  happily  perished  with  the  old 
maps. 

The  principal  tributary  of  the  Little  Tennessee  above  the 
Smoky  mountains  is  spelled  differently  on  almost  every  map. 
The  best  authority,  however,  derived  from  the  Indians  them- 
selves, through  intelligent  citizens,  makes  it  a  word  of  three 
syllables,  spelled  Tuckasege.  Most  old  maps  give  it  an  additional 
syllable  by  doubling  the  final  "e."  The  English  signification  of 
the  word  is.  "  terrapin."  There  was  a  town  of  the  same  name 
above  the  site  of  Webster,  and  near  it  a  pond  which  abounded 
in  the  water  species  of  that  reptile.  The  shells  were  much 
sought  and  highly  prized  by  the  Indians  for  ornaments.  The 
couplet  of  mountains  which  divide  the  Tuckasege  from  Cash- 


Aboriginal  Geography.  27 

ier's  valley,  are  locally  known  by  the  English  signification  ' '  Ter- 
rapin,"  but  the  original,   "  Tuckasege, "  should  be  restored. 

Ocona  Lufta,  the  name  of  the  pearly  stream  which  flows 
through  the  Indian  settlement,  is  derived  from  its  having  been 
a  nesting  place  for  ducks  and  other  water  fowls.  One  of  its 
affluents,  the  Colehmayeh,  is  derived  from  Coleh,  "raven,"  and 
Mayeh,  "  water."  The  English  ' '  Raven's  fork  "  is  in  common  use 
among  the  whites.  Soco,  the  name  of  another  tributary  of  the 
Lufta,  means  ".one.  " 

Charlestown,  in  Swain  county,  occupies  the  ancient  site  of 
the  Indian  village  of  Younaahqua  or  Big  Bear.  Wesuh,  meaning 
"  cat,"  has  taken  the  colloquialism  Conley's  creek  for  its  name. 
The  post  hamlet  of  Qualla  town,  in  the  present  Cherokee  settle- 
ment, is  an  English  name  modified  to  suit  the  Indian  tongue. 
A  white  woman  named  Polly,  familiarly  "  Aunt  Polly,"  opened 
a  small  store.  Her  Indian  customers,  unable  to  give  the  sound 
of  "p,"  their  speech  t>eing  open-mouthed,  substituted  the  "q" 
sound,  which  came  into  general  use  and  finally  changed  the 
word.  Qualla  is  a  very  common  name  for  Indian  women. 

The  euphonious  name  Nantahala  seems  to  be  little  under- 
stood. The  most  commonly  given  interpretation  is  "maiden's 
bosom,"  though  that  meaning  can  only  be  derived  by  a  stretch 
of  metaphor.  If  the  word,  as  supposed  by  some  interpreters, 
is  compounded  of  Nantaseh  and  Eylee,  it  means  ' '  between 
ridges,"  whence  by  far-fetched  simile  "maiden's  bosom."  But 
it  is  more  probably  compounded  of  Nantaseh  and  Eyalee,  which 
literally  means  "The  sun  between,"  or  "half  way,"  hence 
"  noonday  sun.  " 

The  Hiawassee  was  known  among  the  earliest  explorers  as 
the  Euphrasee,  which  was  perhaps  the  name  applied  by  a  more 
southern  tribe.  The  largest  affluent  of  the  Hiawassee  is  the 
Valley  river,  known  by  the  Cherokees  as  Ahmachunahut,  mean- 
ing "  long  stream." 


28  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

Cullasaja  is  the  old  name  of  that  tributary  of  the  Little  Ten- 
nessee which  heads  in  the  Macon  highlands,  and  is  noted  for 
the  beauty  of  its  cascades.  The  English  signification  of  the 
word  is  "  sweet  water."  Sugar  fork  is  the  local  designation, 
though  the  maps  preserve  the  old  and  rich  sounding  original. 

Satoola,  the  name  of  a  high  peak  overlooking  the  upper 
Macon  plateau,  has  been  mercilessly  pruned  to  "Stooley." 
Horse  Cove  is  the  homely  appellation  of  a  parquet-shaped  valley 
within  the  curved  precipice  which  leads  from  Satoola  to  White- 
sides.  Sequilla,  the  old  Indian  name,  has  a  much  better  sound. 
Cowee,  the  designation  of  the  great  transverse  chain  which 
divides  the  Tuckasege  from  the  Tennessee  is  a  corruption  of 
Keowe,  the  form  which  still  attaches  to  the  river.  It  means 
"  near,"  or  "at  hand.  " 

The  writers  regret  that  they  are  unable  to  give  the  meaning 
of  all  the  words  of  Indian  origin  which  appear  upon  the  map. 
They  regret  still  more  that  they  are  unable  to  restore  to  all 
places  of  general  interest  the  rich  accents  of  the  Cherokee 
tongue.  It  is  a  subject  which  will  require  long  and  patient 
study.  Public  interest  must  also  be  aroused,  so  that  designa- 
tions long  since  laid  aside,  when  made  known,  will  be  locally 
applied. 

We  will  now  trace  the  rapid  decline  of  the  most  warlike  of  all 
the  Indian  tribes,  and  conclude  with  an  account  of  the  remnant 
band  known  as  the  Eastern  Cherokees.  One  of  the  first  white 
invasions  of  the  picturesque  dominion  of  the  ancient  tribe  was 
made  by  slave  traders,  late  in  the  seventeenth  century,  in  the 
interest  of  West  India  planters.  Hundreds  of  strong  warriors 
were  bound  and  carried  from  Arcadia  and  freedom  to  malarious 
swamps  and  bondage,  where  they  soon  sank  under  the  burden 
of  oppressive  labor.  Cherokees  made  better  slaves  than  any 
other  Indians,  on  account  of  their  superior  strength  and  intelli- 
gence, and  consequently  were  the  most  sought.  Neighboring 


Decline  of  the  Tribe.  29 

tribes  were  incited  to  make  war  upon  them  by  the  offer  of  prizes 
for  captives.  After  long  suffering  and  much  bloodshed,  the 
governor  of  Carolina,  in  response  to  the  solicitations  of  the 
head  men  of  the  tribe,  interposed  the  authority  of  his  govern- 
ment. The  Cherokee  nation  in  return  acknowledged  Great  Brit- 
ain as  its  protector,  and  permitted  the  erection  of  British  forts 
within  its  territory.  Emissaries  of  France  attempted  to  win 
the  allegiance  of  these  Indians  with  presents  of  gaudy  blankets, 
and  arms  for  the  chase.  While  their  affections  vacillated  be- 
tween the  two  nations,  the  tribe  proved  loyal  in  the  end  to  its 
first  vow.  In  the  French  war  in  the  year  1757,  the  Chero- 
kees  bore  arms  against  France,  with  which  nation  most  of  the 
red  race  were  in  alliance.  On  their  return  from  the  forks  of  the 
Ohio,  after  the  fall  of  Fort  Duquesne,  being  poorly  fed,  they 
raided  the  settlements  and  carried  away  a  large  number  of  negro 
slaves.  These  taught  their  masters  the  elements  of  farming. 

The  Cherokees  remained  loyal  to  the  king  during  the  Revolu- 
tion, and,  associated  with  tory  guerrillas,  engaged  in  many  acts 
of  bloody  violence.  The  transmontane  settlement,  on  the  Hol- 
ston  in  East  Tennessee,  was  the  chief  object  of  the  tribe's  ma- 
lignant jealousy.  For  six  years,  the  little  band  of  settlers  held 
their  lives  in  their  hands,  struggling  incessantly  with  blood- 
thirsty foes  and  slowly  devouring  poverty. 

The  Indians  themselves  suffered  incursions  from  both  sides  of 
the  mountains.  Their  villages  on  the  Tuckasege,  Little  Ten- 
nessee and  the  Hiawassee  were  frequently  destroyed,  the  coun- 
try pillaged,  corn  burned  and  ponies  led  away.  Ramsey  thus 
describes  an  expedition  of  Tennesseeans  under  command  of 
Colonel  John  Sevier,  £he  lion  of  the  western  border : 

"The  command,  consisting  of  120  men,  went  up  Cane  creek 
(from  the  Holston),  crossed  Ivy  and  Swanannoa,"  thence 
through  Balsam  gap  to  the  Tuckasege.  "He  entered  and  took 
by  surprise  the  town  of  Tuckasege.  Fifty  warriors  were  slain, 


30  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

and  fifty  women  and  children  taken  prisoners.  In  that  vicinity 
the  troops  under  Sevier  burnt  15  or  20  towns  and  all 
the  graneries  of  corn  they  could  find.  It  was  a  hard  and  dis- 
agreeable necessity  that  led  to  the  adoption  of  these  apparently 
cruel  measures. "  The  lower  and  valley  towns  afterwards  suf- 
fered a  similar  fate. 

An  incident  illustrative  of  the  times  is  associated  with  the 
naming  of  Fine's  creek  in  Haywood  county.  The  Indians  were 
in  the  habit  of  making  sallies  down  the  Pigeon  into  the  Ten- 
nessee settlements,  then  returning  to  their  mountain  fastnesses. 
On  one  of  these  expeditions  they  were  routed  and  followed  by 
Peter  Fine  and  a  company  of  plucky  militia.  The  Indians 
were  overtaken  in  camp  beyond  the  mountains,  one  killed  and 
the  property  recovered.  The  whites  were  in  turn  followed  by 
the  Indians,  and,  while  sustaining  a  night  attack,  Vinet  Fine,  the 
major's  brother,  was  killed.  A  hole  was  cut  in  the  ice,  and,  to 
conceal  the  body  from  the  savages,  it  was  dropped  into  the 
creek.  It  is  appropriate,  therefore,  that  the  stream  should  be 
called  Fine's  creek. 

Soon  after  the  Revolution  the  Cherokees  made  a  session  of 
all  their  lands  between  the  Tennessee  and  Cumberland  rivers. 
More  than  12,000  Indians  were  present  at  the  council.  Mon- 
nette's  History  gives  the  prophetic  speech  of  an  old  chief— 
Oconnastotee.  He  began  by  describing  the  flourishing  condi- 
tion of  his  nation  in  the  past,  and  the  encroachments  of  the 
whites  upon  the  retiring  and  expiring  tribes  of  Indians,  who 
left  their  homes  and  the  seats  of  their  ancestors  to  gratify  the 
insatiable  thirst  of  the  white  people  for  more  land.  Whole  na- 
tions had  melted  away,  and  had  left  their  names  only  as  rec- 
orded by  their  enemies  and  destroyers.  It  was  once  hoped  that 
they  would  not  be  willing  to  travel  beyond  the  mountains  so 
far  from  the  ocean  on  which  their  commerce  was  carried  on. 
That  fallacious  hope  had  vanished,  for  the  whites  had  already 


Land  Grants  and  Treaties.  31 

settled  on  the  Cherokee  lands,  and  now  wished  to  have  their 
usurpations  sanctioned  by  treaty.  When  that  shall  have  been 
done  new  sessions  will  be  applied  for,  and  finally  the  country 
which  the  Cherokees  and  their  forefathers  occupied  will  be  ap- 
plied for.  The  small  remnant  which  may  then  exist  of  this 
once  great  and  powerful  nation  will  be  compelled  to  seek  a  new 
home  in  some  far  distant  wilderness. 

But  a  few  years  elapsed  before  the  beginning  of  the  fulfill- 
ment of  this  prophesy.  Emigration  after  the  Revolution  be- 
came a  mania.  The  Watauga  passes  were  filled  with  teams  en 
route  for  the  Holston  valley,  and  roads  were  constructed  up  the 
Blue  Ridge  to  the  garden  valley  of  the  upper  French  Broad. 

The  Indians  were  soon  forced  to  retire  beyond  the  Balsams, 
into  the  valley  of  the  Little  Tennessee  and  its  upper  branches. 
Tennessee  acquired,  by  purchase  and  otherwise,  most  of  the 
Cherokee  territory  in  that  state,  while  Georgia  adopted  a  harsh 
and  oppressive  policy,  calculated  to  produce  discontent.  As 
early  as  1790,  a  band  of  low  country  Cherokees  emigrated 
beyond  the  Mississippi,  from  which  time,  as  the  hunting 
grounds  became  more  and  more  contracted,  discouragement 
and  a  desire  to  go  west,  became  general  among  the  clans  below 
the  Smoky  mountains  and  Blue  Ridge.  Several  treaties  ceding 
portions  of  their  domain  were  made,  and  finally  a  faction  repre- 
senting themselves  as  agents  of  the  tribe,  in  1835  surrendered 
"  all  rights,  title,  and  possession  to  all  the  lands  owned  and 
occupied  by  the  Cherokee  Indians,''  in  exchange  for  lands  west 
of  the  Mississippi.  The  North  Carolina  Indians  and  a  portion 
of  those  in  Georgia  and  Tennessee  protested  vigorously  against 
the  terms  of  the  treaty.  Under  the  leadership  of  the  proud 
warrior  Junaluska,  they  were  among  the  most  valiant  of  General 
Jackson's  soldiers  in  the  second  war  with  Great  Britain.  They 
now  vainly  appealed  to  the  same  General  Jackson  as  President 


32  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

of  the  United  States,  for  the  privilege  of  remaining  in  the  land 
of  their  fathers. 

By  a  treaty  made  in  1819  the  Cherokees  had  ceded  all  their 
lands,  * '  saving  and  reserving  one  section  for  each  family  who 
chose  to  remain."  The  clans  that  desired  to  emigrate  were 
given  lands  and  transportation.  The  treaty  of  1835  provided 
for  an  exchange  of  all  the  eastern  reservations  for  lands  in  the 
west,  without  discretion  ;  but  through  the  influence  of  Colonel 
W.  H.  Thomas,  the  treaty  was  so  modified  that  certain  towns 
were  to  have  money  compensation  for  their  reservations  under 
the  treaty  of  1819,  with  which  to  purchase  new  homes  in  their 
native  land.  These  were  to  be  held  in  fee  simple  by  as  many  as 
chose  to  remain. 

A  large  percentage  of  the  tribe  denied  the  validity  of  the 
treaty  altogether,  and  only  yielded  when  the  force  of  General 
Scott's  army  was  brought  to  bear,  in  1837.  ^  *s  ^n  those  who 
accepted  the  advice  and  offices  of  Colonel  Thomas,  and  remained 
in  North  Carolina,  we  are  chiefly  interested.  Their  kin  who 
voluntarily  emigrated  or  were  driven  west  of  the  Mississippi 
have  progressed  steadily  in  the  useful  arts,  have  schools, 
churches,  farms  and  cattle. 

The  Eastern  Band,  as  those  who  remained  and  purchased 
farms,  and  their  descendants  are  known,  has  been  steadily  de- 
creasing in  numbers,  there  being  at  present  but  slightly  above 
noo  souls. 

Colonel  Thomas,  who  was,  until  recent  years,  the  chief  of 
the  band,  was  born  in  the  Pigeon  river  valley,  and,  at  a  very 
early  age,  left  an  orphan.  Felix  Walker,  the  Congressional 
representative  from  the  Western  North  Carolina  district,  had  two 
stores,  one  at  Waynesville  and  one  in  the  Indian  country,  on 
Soco,  in  which  latter  store  young  Thomas  was  placed  as  clerk. 
Most  of  the  customers  being  Indians,  he  soon  learned  to  speak 
and  write  Cherokee.  These  linguistic  attainments  made  him 


Character  of  Chief  Younaguska.  33 

invaluable  to  the  tribe  for  the  transaction  of  public  and  private 
business.  Younaguska  (Drowning  Bear),  the  reigning  chief, 
adopted  the  lad  into  his  family  and  tribe,  and  gave  him  entire 
clerical  charge  of  public  affairs. 

The  chief,  Younaguska,  was  an  extraordinary  Indian.  He 
was  acute,  vigorous,  and  determined;  qualities  which  made  him 
both  respected  and  feared  by  his  people.  He  knew  how  to  con- 
trol their  weaknesses  and  use  their  superstitions. 

The  Cherokees,  like  all  Indians  who  come  in  contact  with  the 
whites,  became  intemperate.  Younaguska,  though  himself  ad- 
dicted to  the  use  of  whisky  to  excess,  determined  upon  a 
reformation  of  his  people.  He  sank  into  a  trance,  so  heavy 
that  the  whole  town  supposed  him  to  be  dead,  though  some 
signs  of  life  remained.  Anxiously  they  watched  and  waited  for 
fifteen  days,  when  it  was  determined  to  perform  the  funeral 
rites  according  to  their  ancient  usages.  The  tribe  assembled. 
The  plaintive  notes  of  the  funeral  song  began  to  mingle  with 
the  roll  of  the  Lufty.  They  marched  and  counter-marched, 
1,200  of  them,  around  the  prostrate  body  of  their  chief.  Then 
came  a  sudden  pause  and  fright,  for  the  dead  had  returned  to 
life  !  An  old  familiar  voice  was  summoning  their  attention. 
He' spoke  with  deep  feeling,  telling  his  people  that  he  had  been 
in  a  trance  ;  that  he  had  communed  with  the  great  spirit ;  that 
his  long  service  for  his  people  was  not  yet  ended  ;  he  was  to  re- 
main with  them  as  many  years  as  he  had  been  days  in  the 
"  happy  hunting  ground." 

Having  thus  given  to  his  speech  the  authority  of  inspiration, 
he  proceeded  to  tell  them  that  he  had  served  them  upwards  of 
40  years  without  any  'pecuniary  consideration  whatever.  His 
sole  aim  had  been  to  promote  their  good.  Their  happiness  in 
the  future  was  his  chief  concern.  He  was  convinced  that 
intemperance  was  the  cause  of  the  extermination  of  the  Indian 
tribes  who  lived  in  contact  with  the  whites.  As  an  example 


34  TJic  Native  Mountaineers. 

he  referred  to  the  previous  and  present  condition  of  the  Cataw- 
bas,  with  whom  they  were  acquainted.  He  deplored  the  scenes 
of  dissipation  so  common  among  his  own  people,  and  closed  by 
directing  Mr.  Thomas,  from  whom  this  account  has  been 
derived,  to  write  the  following  pledge :  ' '  The  undersigned 
Cherokees,  belonging  to  the  town  of  Qualla,  agree  to  abandon' 
the  use  of  spirituous  liquors."  The  old  chief  signed  first  and 
was  followed  by  the  whole  town.  This  pledge  was  enforced  with 
the  rigor  of  a  written  law,  its  violation  in  every  instance 
being  punished  at  the  public  whipping  post.  Younaguska 
expressed  pleasure  in  the  knowledge  that  his  people  confided 
in  him.  He  advised  them  to  remain  where  they  were,  in  North 
Carolina,  a  State  more  friendly  and  better  disposed  toward  the 
red  man  than  any  other.  Should  they  remove  west  they  would 
there  too  soon  be  surrounded  by  the  whites  and  perhaps 
included  in  a  State  disposed  to  oppress  them. 

Younaguska's  influence  over  th'em  was  well  nigh  omnipotent, 
and  was  exerted  uniformly  with  a  view  to  their  improvement. 
Colonel  Thomas,  whose  acquaintance  with  public  men  was 
extensive,  has  declared  that  this  old  Indian  was  the  intellectual 
peer  of  John  C.  Calhoun.  There  is  certainly  a  place  in  history 
for  the  individual,  whatever  be  his  race,  who  can  elevate  a  band 
of  warriors  and  hunters  into  a  community  of  agriculturists,  capa- 
ble of  raising  their  own  food  and  manufacturing  their  own 
clothing. 

Before  Younaguska  died  he  assembled  his  people  and  pub- 
licly willed  the  chieftainship  to  his  clerk,  friend  and  adopted 
son,  W.  H.  Thomas,  whom  he  commended  as  worthy  of  respect 
and  whom  he  adjured  them  to  obey  as  they  had  obeyed  him. 
He  was  going  to  the  home  provided  for  him  by  the  great  spirit* 
he  would  always  keep  watch  over  his  people  and  would  be 
grieved  to  see  any  of  them  disobey  the  new  chief  he  had  chosen 
to  rule  over  them.  It  was  therefore  under  the  most  auspicious 


Government  of  the  Tribe.  35 

circumstances  that  Colonel  Thomas  became  chief  of  the  Eastern 
Band  of  the  Cherokees.  He  had  been  with  them  long  enough 
to  know  their  character.  He  made  himself  absolute  in  every- 
thing, and  required  the  strictest  obedience.  He  kept  constantly 
in  their  minds  the  injunction  of  Younaguska,  and  warned  them 
at  every  critical  juncture  of  the  danger  of  incurring  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  spirit  of  their  old  chief.  Councils  were  held 
according  to  the  ancient  usages  of  the  tribe,  but  they  did  little 
mo're  than  confirm  the  transactions  of  the  chief. 

Colonel  Thomas,  as  provided  by  the  treaty  of  1835,  used  the 
funds  of  the  Indians  in  the  purchase  of  homes.  He  provided 
for  their  education  and  encouraged  religious  exercises  among 
them.  -When  the  war  broke  out  he  led  four  companies  into  the 
Confederate  army.  They  showed  capacity  for  discipline  and 
were  not  wanting  in  courage  ;  but  like  a  great  many  of  these 
highlanders,  they  had  no  interest  in  the  cause,  and  employed 
the  first  opportunity  to  desert,  some  of  them  joining  the  Federal 
army  and  many  finding  their  mountain  homes.  During  the 
war  the  tribe's  internal  affairs  were  in  chaos,  its  councils  were 
without  a  head,  and  its  members  lapsed  into  dissipation  and  lazi- 
ness. The  ban  of  an  adverse  fatality  seemed  to  rest  over  these 
unfortunate  pilgrims  on  their  way  from  barbarism  to  civilization. 

Their  chief  was  stricken  with  nervous  disease  when  his  ser- 
vices were  most  needed,  and  years  of  confusion  and  imposition 
followed.  There  were  rival  pretenders  to  the  chieftainship,  who 
divided  the  band  into  factions  and  threatened  at  one  time  a  con- 
test at  arms.  The  animus  of  this  whole  affair  was  the  avarice 
of  several  white  adventurers  who  were  seeking  to  control  the 
business  of  the  tribe  in  order  to  get  into  their  own  hands  the 
claims  due  the  Indians  from  the  United  States.  Even  under 
such  circumstances  these  people  demonstrated  their  capacity 
for  self  government.  One  of  the  contestants,  whose  English 
name  was  John  Ross,  was  forced  to  abandon  his  pretensions, 


36  TJie  Native  Mountaineers. 

and  Lloyd  Welsh,  his  competitor,  soon  after  died.  A  written 
constitution  had  in  the  meantime  been  adopted,  which  is 
still  in  force.  Nimrod  Jarrett  Smith,  an  intelligent  and  edu- 
cated member  of  the  tribe,  was  elected  by  popular  vote  to  the 
chieftainship  for  the  term  of  four  years,  and  has  since  been 
re-elected. 

The  Eastern  Band  of  Cherokees  have  title  in  fee  simple  to 
50,000  acres  of  land  on  the  Ocona  Lufta  and  Soco  creek, 
known  as  the  Qualla  boundary.  A  few  small  tracts  belonging 
to  individual  Indians  are  included.  Besides  this  boundary,  there 
are  belonging  to  the  band  and  individuals  1,521  acres  in 
detached  tracts  lying  in  the  counties  of  Cherokee,  Graham, 
Jackson,  and  Swain.  According  to  the  census  of  1880,  there 
were  living  in  the  Qualla  reserve,  825  ;  in  Cherokee  county,  83  ; 
in  Graham  county,  189,  and  in  Macon  county,  12,  making  a 
total  of  1,109.  This  number  is  ten  per  cent,  less  than  in  1870. 
The  Graham  county  Indians  live  along  the  head  branches  of  the 
Cheowah,  those  in  Cherokee  county  on  Valley  river. 

The  Indians  have  no  towns,  nor  does  their  manner  of  life  dif- 
fer in  many  particulars  from  that  of  the  white  people  among 
whom  they  reside.  A  stranger,  unless  he  sees  the  inmates, 
does  not  distinguish  an  Indian  cabin  from  a  white  man's,  nor, 
with  few  exceptions,  an  Indian's  little  cove  farm  from  one  of  its 
class  cultivated  by  a  white  man. 

The  valley  of  Soco  is  the  locality  of  densest  Indian  population. 
The  fields,  originally  of  average  fertility,  are  worn  out  by  bad 
farming:  There  is  an  abundance  of  fruit — apples,  peaches  and 
plums.  The  predominant  crop  is  corn,  which  is  reduced  to 
meal  by  the  simple  little  mills  common  to  the  mountain  coun- 
try. Small  herds  of  ponies  are  frequently  seen  by  the  wayside. 
These,  and  a  few  cattle,  are  the  main  sources  of  revenue  upon 
which  the  people  rely  for  what  money  they  need.  Taxes 
and  expenses  incident  to  their  government,  including  :,cho6ls 


The  Chcrokccs  of  the  Present. 


37 


is  the  extent  of  cash  demands  made  upon  them.  They  manu- 
facture their  own  clothing.  The  primitive  dress  of  the  warriors 
and  hunters  consisted  of  deer  skin  leggins  and  moccasins,  a 
highly  colored  shirt,  and  a  kind  of  turban  ornamented  with 
feathers.  The  moccasins  alone  survive,  the  dress  of  an  Indian 
in  all  other  respects  being  like  that  of  his  white  neighbor. 
The  Cherokee  women  of  the  present  generation  are  unattrac- 
tive. Some  of  the  young  children  who  attend  school  are  clean 
and  neat  in  person  and  dress,  which  is  more  than  can  be 
said  of  many  of  the  mothers.  The  women  are  seldom  seen 
upon  the  road  without  burdens,  though  the  men  rarely  carry 
anything.  '  The  lower  valley  of  the  Soco  is  barren  of  scenic 
interest,  yet  these  metamorphosed  representatives  of  a  primi- 
tive population  cannot  fail  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the  tourist. 
You  may  be  interested  in  some  of  the  details  of  our  trip  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Ocona  Lufta  to  Soco  gap. 

The  loquacious  innkeeper  at 
Charleston  started  us  off  with  a 
comfortable  breakfast  and  the  in- 
formation that  the  distance  to 
Yellow  Hill,  the  residence  of  Chief 
Smith  and  Cherokee  seat  of  govern- 
ment, was  about  eleven  miles,  and 
from  there  to  Waynesville,  through 
Soco  gap,  was  twenty-five.  Two 
hours'  ride  through  the  sandy,  but 
well  cultivated  valley  of  the  Tucka- 
sege  brought  us  to  the  Ocona 
Lufta.  From  this  point  the  road 
follows  the  general  course  of  the 
stream,  but,  avoiding  its  curves, 
is  at  places  s'o  far  away  that  the 
roar  of  the  rapids  sounds  like  the  A  soco  LASS 


38  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

the  distant  approach  of  a  storm.  At  places  the  road  is  almost 
crowded  into  the  river  by  the  stern  approach  of  precipices,  and 
then  again  they  separate  while  crossing  broad,  green,  undulat- 
ing bottoms.  Overtaking  an  old  squaw  and  a  girl  probably 
ten  years  old,  we  inquired  the  distance  to  Yellow  Hill.  The 
old  woman  shook  her  head  and  gave  us  an  expressionless  look, 
indicating  that  she  did  riot  understand.  The  girl  in  good 
English  gave  us  intelligible  directions.  We  learned  subse- 
quently that  nearly  all  the  Cherokee  children  can  speak  and 
write  English.  Many  of  the  old  folks  can  understand  our  lan- 
guage, but  will  not  admit  it.  I  began  asking  some  questions  of 
a  stoop-shouldered,  heavy-set  fellow  about  the  country.  He 
stood  dumb,  but  when  I  told  him  I  wanted  to  buy  a  few 
peaches  his  eye  brightened,  and  the  words  "How  many?" 
were  distinctly  uttered. 

We  arrived  at  Yellow  Hill  about  11  o'clock.  Chief  Smith 
resides  in  a  comfortable  house  of  four  rooms,  situated  on  top  of 
an  elevation  in  the  midst  of  a  plain  of  considerable  extent.  In 
an  open  yard  near  the  house  is  a  frame  building  used  for  a 
school-house,  meeting-house,  and  council-house.  We  found 
Chief  Smith  in  his  residence,  writing  at  a  table  covered  with 
books,  pamphlets,  letters,  and  manuscripts.  The  room  is 
neatly  papered  and  comfortably  furnished.  The  chief  received 
us  with  cordiality.  He  was  dressed  in  white  starched  shirt, 
with  collar  and  cuffs,  Prince  Albert  coat,  well-fitting  black  pant- 
aloons, and  calf-skin  boots  shining  like  ebony.  He  is  more 
than  six  feet  tall,  straight  as  a  plumb  line,  and  rather  slender. 
His  features  are  rough  and  prominent.  His  forehead  is  full 
but  not  high,  and  his  thick,  black  hair,  combed  to  perfect 
smoothness,  hung  down  behind  large  protruding  ears,  almost 
to  the  coat  collar.  He  has  a  deep,  full-toned  voice,  and  ear- 
nest, impressive  manner.  His  wife  is  a  white  woman,  and  his 
daughters,  bright,  intelligent  girls,  have  been  well-educated. 


Constitution  of  the  Band.  39 

One  of  them  was  operating  a   sewing-machine,  another  writing 
for  her  father. 

Under  the  present  constitution  the  chief's  term  of  office  is 
four  years.  His  salary  is  $500  a  year,  and  $4  a  day  additional 
when  on  business  in  Washington.  No  one  but  a  Cherokee  of 
more  than  35  years  of  age  is  eligible  to  the  chieftainship. 
There  is  an  assistant  chief  who  receives  $250  yearly.  He  is  one 
of  the  council,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  chief  performs  his 
duiies.  There  are  in  addition  three  ex-ecutive  advisers.  The 
council  consists  of  two  delegates  to  every  100  persons.  It  is 
presided  over  by  the  chief,  who  has  the  veto  power,  but  who  is 
lot  at  liberty  to  act  in  any  matter  of  public  policy  without  the 
luthority  of  the  council.  Every  male  Indian  over  sixteen  years 
old,  and  every  white  man  who  has  an  Indian  wife,  is  allowed  to 
vote.  No  one  is  eligible  to  office  who  has  ever  aided  and  abet- 
ted, or  in  any  way  joined  the  whites  in  defrauding  the  tribe ; 
neither  can  any  one  hold  office  who  "denies  the  being  of  a  God, 
or  of  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments.  There  is  gen- 
eral satisfaction  with  the  present  government,  and  Mr.  Smith 
declares  there  is  entire  loyalty  in  all  the  settlements. 

A  public  school  is  maintained,  and  even  the  old  and  middle- 
aged  are  better  educated  than  the  whites  in  many  communities. 
The  young  are  taught  in  both  Cherokee  and  English.  It  is 
unfortunate  that  no  public  fund  is  provided  for  the  advanced 
education  of  the  more  intelligent  of  them,  that  they  might  be- 
come teachers.  Others  should  be  placed  in  shops  where  they 
would  become  artisans.  Finely  engraved  pipes,  ornaments,  and 
well  made  baskets  show  their  capacity  in  this  direction.  Their 
industry  at  present  is,  not  commendable. 

The  christianization  of  the  Cherokees  was  begun  in  1801,  by 
Moravian  missionaries.  It  was  easy  to  adapt  their  old  faith  to 
the  new  creed,  and  many  were  converted.  Other  churches 
have  since  taken  up  the  work,  Baptists  deserving  the  most 


4O  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

credit,  and  next  to  them  the  Methodists.  They  are  naturally 
devout,  and  most  of  them  are  in  regular  communion  with 
,the  church,  thereby  imposing  marriage  laws  and  other  social 
regulations.  Christianity  has  strengthened  and  solemnized  the 
marriage  tie,  which  in  the  prouder  but  more  barbarous  condi- 
tion of  the  tribe  was  a  very  weak  relation.  Boys  used  to 
choose  their  wives  at  sixteen  to  eighteen  years  of  age,  live  w:th 
them  a  few  years  and  then  abandon  them,  and  their  families.  It 
not  unfrequently  happened  that  after  rioting  with  strange 
women  for  a  period,  they  came  back  to  their  first  choice,  unless 
their  places  had  been  taken  by  others.  Prostitution  was  com- 
mon, though  considered  the  most  disgraceful  of  crimes,  anc 
punished  by  shearing  the  head.  This  punishment  has  been  dis- 
continued. Although  there  has  been  a  healthy  change  in  social 
morals  there  is  room  for  improvement. 

Rigid  seriousness  is  a  marked  element  of  Indian  character, 
and  is  written  in  unmistakable  lines  upon  their  faces.  The 
Cherokee  language  is  not  capable  of  expressing  a  witticism,  and 
anything  like  a  joke  is  foreign  to  their  nature.  They  have  a 
great  many  so-called  dances,  but  none  of  them,  like  the  dance 
of  the  negro,  is  the  effervescence  of  irrepressible  joy.  The 
Indian  dances  as  a  preparation  for  some  coming  event ;  he 
never  celebrates.  It  seems  to  be  a  legacy  of  his  heathen  ideas 
of  making  sacrifice  to  the  great  spirit,  apparently  involving 
much  painful  labor.  In  the  primitive  days  the  whole  tribe 
danced  before  making  war,  and  the  warriors  danced  before  go- 
ing into  battle.  It  is  still  their  custom  to  go  through  these 
melancholy  perambulations  before  every  contest  of  strength, 
such  as  a  game  of  ball  or  a  wrestling  match.  The  funeral 
dance  and  the  wedding  dance  are  performed  with  the  same 
stern  immobility  of  features. 

From  Yellow  Hill  our  party  started  to  Qualla  post-office,  a 
collection  of  a  half-dozen  unattractive  houses,  inhabited  by 


Trip  Through  Qualla.  41 

whites,  but  at  one  time  the  council  house  of  the  band.  The 
Ocona  Lufta  crossed  our  path  at  the  beginning.  The  purity  of 
the  stream  seemed  to  forbid  the  intrusion  of  a  dirty  hoof,  but 
there  was  no  time  to  indulge  sentiment.  The  ford  is  shallow, 
and  angles  down  stream.  My  horse  mistook  a  canoe  landing, 
almost  opposite,  for  his  place  of  destination,  his  rider's  attention 
being  absorbed  in  the  blocks  of  many  colored  granite  and 
transparent  crystals  of  quartz,  which  form  the  bottom  pave- 
ment. Three-fourths  way  across,  the  water  was  smooth  and 
touched  the  horse's  neck.  Another  length,  a  plunge,  and  the 
horse  was  swimming ;  still  the  lustrous  bottom  shone  with  un- 
diminished  distinctness. 

On  our  way  through  Quallatown  to  Soco  creek,  we  passed 
numerous  wayfarers  carrying  corn,  fruit,  baskets,  and  babies. 
One  woman  had  a  bushel  of  corn  tied  in  a  sack  around  her 
waist,  a  basket  of  apples  on  her  head,  and  a  baby  in  her  arms. 
A  slouchy  man  was  walking  at  her  side  empty-handed  and  scold- 
ing, probably  because  she  was  unable  to  carry  him.  Under  a 
peach  tree  before  a  cabin  stood  a  witch-like  squaw  and  half  a 
dozen  unattractive  children.  "  Is  this  the  Soco  road?"  was 
asked.  "Satula"  issued  from  her  grim  old  mouth,  and  her 
finger  pointed  at  the  peaches. 

"No,  Soco;  is  this  Soco?"  nervously  urged  our  companion, 
pointing  up  the  stream. 

"Uh,"  she  grunted  out,  and  handed  him  one  peach,  from 
which  we  inferred  that  "  soco  "  means  "one."  A  white  woman 
in  the  vicinity  confirmed  our  guess,  and  told  us  that  "satula  " 
is  equivalent  to  the  phrase  "  do  you  want  it  ?  " 

Pause,  and  look  at  an  "Indian  maiden"  by  the  road  side. 
We  did.  Who,  that  has  read  Longfellow,  and  Cooper,  and 
Irving,  could  pass  without  looking  ?  She  certainly  could  not 
have  been  the  inspiration  of  Longfellow's  Hiawatha.  She 
stands,  in  my  recollection,  with  fishing  rod  in  hand — about  five 


42  The  Native  Mountaineers. 

feet  tall,  and  140  pounds  in  weight.  Black,  coarse,  knotted  hair 
hangs  down  her  back  to  the  waist.  Under  her  low  forehead  is  a 
pair  of  large,  black  eyes,  which,  unfortunately,  are  devoid  of  ex- 
pression. Her  cheek  bones  are  wider  than  her  forehead  and 
almost  touch  the  level  of  her  eyes.  A  flat  nose,  straight  mouth, 
arid  small  ears,  complete  the  physiognomy  which  showed  no 
sign  of  thinking.  Her  neck  is  short  and  thick,  and  her 
shoulders  broader  than  her  broad  hips.  Her  waist  is  almost 
manly.  A  gown  of  homespun,  patched  and  dirty,  half  conceals 
her  knees.  With  a  glance  at  a  large,  but  clumsy,  pair  of  ankles, 
and  flat  feet,  we  pass  on  out  of  the  Indian  settlement  along 
the  rapids  of  Soco.  We  had  not  been  approached,  by  a  beggar, 
or  asked  to  buy  a  penny  worth  of  anything  during  the  whole 
day. 

The  scenery  along  the  torrents  of  Soco  creek,  down  the 
western  slope  of  the  Balsams,  rivals  in  variety  and  picturesque 
effect  that  of  any  place  in  the  Appalachians.  There  are  no 
grand  chasms,  nor  grand  cascades.  There  is  nothing,  indeed, 
which  calls  for  superlative  adjectives,  unless,  possibly,  we  ex- 
cept the  immensity  of  the  trees,  the  unbroken  carpeting  of 
moss,  and  the  perfect  grace  of  tall  ferns.  There  is,  in  the 
curves  of  the  torrent,  as  it  bounds  over  precipices  and  down 
rapids,  compelling  us  to  cross  its  noisy  channel  at  least  twenty 
times  ;  in  the  conformation  of  the  glens  through  which  we  rode  ; 
in  the  massiveness  and  towering  height  of  the  great  chain,  up 
whose  side  we  were  climbing ;  in  the  white  fragments  of  rock, 
which  reflect  the  sun  light  from  the  stream's  channel  and  the 
highway ;  in  the  rounded  cliffs,  so  modest  that  they  keep  them- 
selves perpetually  robed  in  a  seamless  vesture  of  moss  ;  in  the 
ferns,  the  shrubs,  the  trees,  in  the  absolute  solitude  and  loneli- 
ness of  the  place, — there  is  something  so  complex  in  its  effect 
upon  the  interested  student  of  nature  that  he  is  unwearied  by 
the  two  hours  and  a  half  required  to  make  the  ascent. 


MOUNT  PISGAH. 
West  Asheville  in  the  Foreground. 


IN  THE  HAUNTS  OF  THE  BLACK  BEAR. 


The  bear,  with  shaggy  hide 

Red-stained  from  blood  of  slaughtered  swine,  at  night 
Slain  by  him  on  the  mountain's  lower  side, 

Roused  by  the  breaking  light, 

Comes  growling  to  his  lair. 
Distant,  the  baying  of  an  eager  pack, 
Like  chiming  bells,  sweeps  thro'  the  chilly  air 

Above  the  scented  track. 

black  bear,  native  to  North  America,  still  exists  in 
large  numbers  on  the  wildest  ranges  of  the  southern  moun- 
tains. The  work  of  extermination  pursued  by  hunter  and  trap- 
per proceed  more  slowly  against  him  than  against  his  fellow 
inhabitant  of  the  wilderness — the  deer,  in  which  every  faint 
halloo  of  mountaineer,  or  distant  bay  of  the  hounds,  strikes 
terror ;  and  whose  superior  fleetness  of  limb  only  serves  to 
carry  him  to  the  open  river — his  slaughter  ground. 

Bruin's  usual  haunts  are  in  those  melancholy  forests  which 
hood  the  heads  of  the  Black,  Smoky,  and  Balsam  ranges,  and 
deck  a  few  summits  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  resorted  to  either  from 
liking,  or  to  avoid  his  enemies ;  and  it  is  only  when  pushed  by 
hunger  or  when  his  tooth  has  become  depraved  by  a  bait  of 
hog,  taken  during  one  of  these  starving  periods,  that  he  appears 
on  the  lower  slopes  or  in  the  cultivated  valleys.  However, 

45 


46  ///  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Rear. 

there  are  some  localities,  much  lower  than  those  mantled  by  the 
fir  forests,  where  the  black  bear  still  roams.  In  some  sections 
of  the  lower  French  Broad  he  is  occasionally  seen.  The  region 
of  the  Great  Hog-back,  Whiteside,  Satoola,  and  Short-off, 
afford  some  sport  in  this  line  for  the  hunter ;  while  among  the 
Nantihalas  frequent  successful  hunts  are  undertaken. 

For  bear-driving  in  the  Black  mountains,  the  best  place  for  a 
stranger  who  really  wishes  to  kill  a  bear,  and  who  feels  himself 
equal  to  so  arduous  a  tramp,  is  ' '  Big  Tom  "  Wilson's,  on  Cane 
river.  To  reach  it,  you  take  the  stage  from  Asheville  to  Burns- 
ville,  and  then  ride  or  walk  from  the  village  1 5  miles  to  ihe 
home  of  the  old  hunter.  He  is  familiar  with  every  part  of  the 
mountains.  He  it  was  that  discovered  the  body  of  Professor 
Mitchell.  Another  good  starting  point  would  be  from  some 
cabin  on  the  Toe  river  side,  reaching  it  by  leaving  the  main 
traveled  road  at  a  point,  shown  you  by  the  native,  between 
Burnsville  and  Bakersville.  A  start  might  be  made  on  the 
Swannanoa  side  ;  but  the  guides  close  at  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains have  become  perverted  by  too  much  travel  from  abroad, 
and  will  show  more  anxiety  about  securing  pay  for  their  accom- 
modations and  services  than  interest  in  driving  up  a  bear. 
Judging,  however,  from  the  number  of  traps  set  in  the  latter 
locality,  one  would  form  the  idea  that  bears  pay  frequent  visits 
to  the  cornfields. 

For  a  drive  in  the  Smoky  mountains,  read  the  sketch  on  deer 
hunting.  The  region  of  the  Cataluche,  22  miles  north  of 
Waynesville,  is  an  excellent  place  to  visit.  The  log-cabin  of 
Tyre  McCall  on  the  head-waters  of  the  French  Broad,  and  near 
Brevard,  would  afford  fair  headquarters  for  him  who  wished  to 
rough  it.  Deer  and  bear  roam  on  the  Tennessee  Bald  within 
five  miles  of  the  cabin.  Tyre  is  a  horny-handed  but  hospitable 
host,  and  would  hunt  with  you  in  earnest. 

In   the  Nantihalas,    Alexander   Mundy's   is   the  point    from 


In  Camp.  47 

which  to  start  on  a  bear  hunt.  Further  into  the  wilderness,  on 
the  far  boundary  of  Graham  county,  rise  the  Santeelah  and 
Tellico  mountains.  At  Robbinsville  information  can  be  ob- 
tained regarding  the  best  hunter  with  whom  to  remain  for  a 
week's  sport. 

With  this  slight  introduction,  the  writer  proposes  to  convey 
to  the  reader  some  idea  of  what  bear  hunting  in  the  heart  of 
the  Alleghanies  is  like;  what  one  must  expect  to  encounter, 
and  what  sort  of  friends  he  is  likely  to  make  on  such  expedi- 
tions. Besides  the  usual  equipments  carried  by  every  hunter,  it 
would  be  well  to  take  a  rubber  blanket  and  have  the  guide  carry 
an  ax. 

It  was  one  night  about  the  ist  of  December  that  we  were  in 
camp ;  eight  of  us,  huddled  together  under  a  low  bark  roof, 
and  within  three  frail  sides  of  like  material.  Around  the  camp 
lay  seventeen  dogs.  The  ground  beneath  us  was  cold  and  bare, 
except  for  a  thin  layer  of  ferns  lately  bundled  in  by  some  of  the 
party.  Before  the  front  of  the  shelter,  lay  a  great  fire  of  heavy 
logs,  heaped  close  enough  for  a  long-legged  sleeper  to  stick  his 
feet  in,  while  his  head  rested  on  the  bolster  log.  The  hot 
flames,  fanned  by  a  strong  wind,  leaped  high  and  struggled  up 
into  the  darkness.  On  long  sticks,  several  of  the  group  were 
toasting  chunks  of  fat  pork;  others  were  attending  to  black  tin 
pails  of  water  boiling  for  coffee,  while  the  remaining  few  were 
eating  lunches  already  prepared.  The  wood  crackled,  and  occa- 
sionally the  unseasoned  chestnut  timber  snapped,  sending  out 
showers  of  sparks.  Around  and  within  the  circle  of  firelight, 
stood  the  trees  with  stripped,  gaunt  limbs  swaying  in  the  wind. 
Above,  clouds  rolled  ,darkly,  concealing  the  face  of  the  sky. 

The  temporary  camp  of  a  party  of  mountaineers  on  the  hunt 
for  Bruin,  as  viewed  by  night,  presents  a  scene  of  unique  inter- 
est. It  is  a  shelter  only  for  the  time  being;  no  one  expects  to 
return  to  it,  for  by  the  following  night  the  hounds  may  be  20 


48  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

miles  away,  and  the  drivers  and  standers  toasting  bear  steaks  in 
their  cabins,  or  encamping  on  some  distant  height  preparatory 
to  resuming  on  the  morrow  the  chase  of  a  bruin  who  had 
through  one  day  eluded  their  pursuit.  The  mountain  straggler 
often  sees  by  the  trail  which  he  follows,  the  ashes  and  scattered 
black  brands  of  an  extinguished  fire,  and  the  poles  and  birch 
bark  of  an  abandoned  camp.  At  this  view  he  imagines  he  has 
some  idea  of  a  hunter's  camp;  but  it  is  like  the  conception  of 
the  taste  of  an  oyster  from  a  sight  of  the  empty  shell. 

Situated  as  above  described,  we  were  improving  an  opportu- 
nity afforded  for  devouring  the  whole  oyster.  Our  encamp- 
ment was  on  Old  Bald ;  not  the  famous  shaking  mountain,  but 
of  the  Balsams,  eight  miles  south  of  Waynesville.  A  few  days 
previous,  a  denizen  of  Caney.  Fork,  while  crossing  the  mountain 
by  the  new  dug  road,  came  face  to  face  with  a  black  bear,  gray 
about  the  nose  and  ears,  and  of  enormous  size,  as  he  said.  Did 
you  ever  hear  a  tale  where  the  bear  was  not  of  size  too  large  to 
swallow?  The  denizen  of  the  valley  had  no  fire-arms  with  him, 
so  both,  equally  frightened,  stood  staring  at  each  other,  until 
the  denizen  of  the  mountain  shuffled  into  the  beech  woods. 
This  report  considerably  interested  the  Richland  settlers.  They 
laid  their  plans  for  an  early  hunt,  and  had  them  prematurely 
hatched  by  information  brought  in  by  the  highest  log-chopper 
on  the  creek,  that  his  yard  had  been  entered  the  last  past  night 
by  some  "varmint,"  and  a  fine  hundred-pound  hog  (otherwise 
known  as  a  mountain  shad)  killed  and  eaten  within  the  pig-pen. 
The  log-chopper  had  followed  the  trail  for  some  distance,  but 
without  avail. 

That  same  afternoon  our  party  climbed  the  mountain  by  an 
old  bridle-path,  arriving  just  before  sunset  at  a  place  admirably 
suited  for  a  camp.  Two  steep  ridges,  descending  from  the  main 
mountain  top,  hold  between  them  the  channel  of  a  sparkling 
brook.  Its  water  is  crystal  in  clearness  and  icy  cold.  The 


Stately  Forests.  49 

wood,  principally  beech,  is  green  with  casings  of  moss,  and  the 
cold  rocks  in  the  brook's  bed  and  on  the  slopes  above  it  are 
covered  with  a  like  growth.  Where  the  trail  enters  the  water 
the  ground  is  level  on  one  bank,  and  here  we  decided  to  kindle 
our  fire,  and,  as  the  air  was  quite  chilly,  bearing  indications  of 
a  storm,  to  erect  a  light  shelter. 

Dry  leaves  and  twigs  make  excellent  tinder  for  a  flint's  spark 
to  settle  and  blaze  in,  and  enough  seasoned  logs,  bark,  and 
limbs  always  lie  scattered  through  this  forest  to  afford  camp- 
fires.  Our's  was  soon  flaming.  The  loosened  bark  of  a  fallen 
beech  furnished  us  the  material  for  the  roof  and  sides  of  a  shel- 
ter, which  we  built  up  on  four  forked  limbs  driven  into  the 
ground  and  covered  with  long  poles.  It  was  secured  against 
wind  assaults  by  braces. 

Near  where  we  encamped,  and  below  on  the  Beech  Flats, 
stand  trees  as  stately  and  magnificent  as  any  ever  touched  by 
woodman's  ax.  We  noticed  several  cherries  measuring  four 
and  a  half  feet  through,  and  towering,  straight  as  masts,  70  feet 
before  shooting  out  a  limb;  poplars  as  erect  and  tall  to  their 
lower  branches  and  of  still  greater  diameter;  chestnuts  from 
*5  to  33  feet  nl  circumference,  and  thousands  of  sound,  lofty 
linns,  ashes,  buckeyes,  oaks,  and  sugar  maples.  A  few  hem- 
locks considerably  exceed  too  feet  in  height.  A  tree  called  the 
wahoo,  grows  here  as  well  as  on  many  of  the  ranges.  It  bears 
a  white  lily-shaped  flower  in  the  summer.  Numerous  cucumber 
trees  are  scattered  on  the  slopes.  These  with  the  beech,  water 
birch,  black  birch  or  mountain  mahogany,  black  gum,  red 
maple,  and  hickory,  form  the  forests  from  the  mountain  bases 
to  the  line  of  the  balsams.  On  the  Beech  Flats  there  is  no 
underbrush,  except  where  the  rhododendron  hedges  the  purling 
streams.  In  places  the  plain  path,  the  stately  trees,  and  the 
level  or  sloping  ground,  covered  only  with  the  mouldering 


50  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

leaves  of  autumn,  form  parks  more  magnificent  than  those  kept 
in  trim  by  other  hands  than  nature's. 

The  best  hounds,  known  as  the  "  leaders,"  were  fastened  to 
poles  stuck  in  the  ground  at  the  corners  of  our  lodge.  This 
was  done  to  prevent  them  starting  off  during  the  night  on  the 
trail  of  a  wolf,  raccoon,  or  wildcat,  thereby  exhausting  them- 
selves for  the  contemplated  bear  hunt.  The  rest  of  the  pack 
were  either  standing  around,  looking  absently  into  the  fire,  or 
had  already  stretched  themselves  out  in  close  proximity  to  it. 

''The  way  them  curs  crawl  up  to  the  blaze,"  said  Wid  Med- 
ford,  "is  a  shore  sign  thet  hits  goin'  ter  be  cold  nuff  ter  snow 
afore  mornin'." 

No  one  disputed  his  assertion,  and  so,  relative  to  this  subject, 
he  spun  a  story  of  how  one  of  his  hounds,  one  night  many  years 
since,  had  crept  so  close  to  the  camp  fire  that  all  of  his  hair  on 
one  side  was  burnt  off,  and  Wid  awoke  to  detect  the  peculiar 
scent  and  to  feel  the  first  flakes  of  a  snow  storm  that  fell  three 
feet  deep  before  daylight.  As  though  this  story  needed  some- 
thing to  brace  it  up,  Wid  continued  :  "Whatever  I  talk  of  as 
facts,  you  kin  count  on  as  true  as  Scriptur. " 

Israel  Medford,  nicknamed  Wid,  the  master-hunter  of  the 
Balsam  range,  is  a  singular  character,  and  a  good  representative 
of  an  old  class  of  mountaineers,  who,  reared  in  the  wilderness, 
still  spend  most  of  their  time  in  hunting  and  fishing.  He  pos- 
sesses a  standard  type  of  common  sense;  an  abundance  of 
native  wit,  unstrengthened  by  even  the  slightest  "  book-larnin';" 
is  a  close  observer,  a  perfect  mimic,  and  a  shrewd  judge  of 
character.  His  reputation  as  a  talker  is  wide-spread ;  and,  talk- 
ing to  the  point,  he  commands  the  closest  attention.  His  con 
versation  abounds  in  similes ;  and,  drawn  as  they  are  from  his 
own  observation,  they  are  always  striking.  He  is  now  sixty- 
five  years  old,  and  has  been  all  his  life  a  resident  of  Haywood 
county. 


'  'A  Master  Bar-Fighter. "  51 

That  night  as  he  sat  cross-legged  close  to  the  fire,  turning  in 
the  flames  a  stick  with  a  slice  of  fat  pork  on  it,  with  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  thrown  on  the  ground,  fully  exposing  his  thick, 
straight,  gray  locks,  and  clear,  ruddy,  hatchet-shaped  face,  bare 
but  for  a  red  mustache,  lighted  up  with  youthful  animation,  he 
kept  shaking  the  index  finger  of  his  right  hand,  while  in  his 
talk  he  jumped  from  one  subject  to  another  with  as  much 
alacrity  as  his  bow  legs  might  carry  him  over  the  mountains. 

V  What  I  don't  know  about  these  mountings,"  said  he,  direct- 
ing his  keen  blue  eyes  upon  one  member  of  the  group,  "haint 
of  enny  profit  to  man  or  devil.  Why,  I've  fit  bars  from  the 
Dark  Ridge  kentry  to  the  headwaters  of  the  French  Broad. 
I've  brogued  it  through  every  briar  patch  an'  laurel  thicket,  an' 
haint  I  bin  with  Guyot,  Sandoz,  Grand  Pierre,  and  Clingman 
over  every  peak  from  hyar  to  the  South  Caroliny  an'  Georgy 
lines?  Say?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'brogued  it'?"  was  asked. 

"  Crawled,  thets  what  hit  means  ;  just  as  you'd  hev  to  do  ef 
you  perused  every  pint  o'  the  mountings;  ef  you  went  through 
Hell's  Half  Acre  ;  ef  you  slid  down  the  Shinies,  or  clim  the 
Chimbleys." 

"Hit's  rough  thar, "  remarked  a  broad-shouldered,  heavy- 
mustached  young  fellow,  named  Allen. 

"Rough?"  resumed  Wid,   "wal,  I  reckon  hit  is." 

"  But  a  man  can  git  in  rough  places  right  on  this  slope,  can't 
he?"  some  one  inquired. 

"In  course,"  remarked  another  hunter,  "WTid,  you  cum 
powerful  nigh  peeterin'  out  nigh  hyar,  wunct,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Wid.  ,  now  devoting  his  attention  partly  to  a 
boiling  pot  of  coffee,  "Thet  day  war  a  tough  un.  Hit  war  a 
hot  summer  day.  We, — thet  is,  Bill  Massey  who's  awmost 
blind  now,  Bill  Allen  who  gin  up  huntin'  long  ye'rs  ago,  my 
brother  El,  me,  an'  sev'ral  others, — we  started  a  bar  on  the 


52  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

Jackson  county  line  nigh  Scotts  creek  in  the  mornin'.  We  driv 
till  arter-noon,.  an'  in  the  chase  I  got  below  hyar.  I  heered  the 
dogs  up  on  Ole  Bald,  an'  abearin'  down  the  ridge-top  I  was  on, 
Powerful  soon  I  seed  the  bar  comin'  on  a  dog-trot  under  the 
trees.  He  war  a  master  brute  !  " 

"How  big,  Wid?" 

"Four-hunderd  an'  fifty  pound,  net.  Thinks  me  to  myself, 
'  Gun  fust,  knife  next';  fer,  you  see,  I  war  clean  played  out 
with  the  heat  and  long  run,  an'  I  war  in  favor  o'  bringin'  the 
thing  to  a  close  ;  so  I  brought  my  ole  flint-lock  to  my  shoul'er. 
This  is  the  very  gun  I  hed  then,"  and  he  tapped  the  battered 
stock  of  a  six-foot,  black-barreled,  flint-lock  rifle. 

"I  wouldn't  hev  your  cap  arrangements.  This  kind  never 
misses 'fire;  an'  rain  never  teches  hit,  fer  this  'ere  kiver,  ter  put 
over  the  pan,  keeps  hit  as  dry  as  a  tarripin  hull." 

"Go  on  with  the  story,"  exclaimed  an  interested  auditor. 

"Jist  tend  ter  brilin'  your  bacon,  Jonas,  an'  let  me  travel  ter 
suit  my  own  legs.  I  fetched  my  gun  to  my  shoul'er  an'  fired. 
The  brute  never  stopped,  but  I  knowed  I'd  hit  him,  for  I  hed 
a  dead  sight  on  his  head ;  an',  like  blockade  whisky,  a  ball 
outer  thet  black  bore  allus  goes  to  the  spot.  He's  a  thick- 
skulled  varmint,  I  thought.  I  dropped  my  gun,  an'  pulled  my 
knife.  On  he  cum.  He  didn't  pay  no  more  tenshun  to  me 
then  ef  I'd  bin  a  rock.  I  drew  back  a  step,  an'  as  he  brashed 
by  me,  I  bent  over  him,  grabbin'  the  ha'r  o'  his  neck  with  one 
hand,  an'  staubed  him  deep  in  the  side  with  the  knife  in  the 
other.  Thet's  all  I  knowed  for  hours." 

"Did  you  faint?  "  some  one  asked. 

"Faint?"  sneered  Wid,  sticking  out  his  square  chin  and 
showing  his  teeth.  "  You  ass!  You  don't  reckon  I  faint,  do 
you  ?  Women  faint.  I  fell  dead !  You  see  all  the  blood  in 
me  jumped  over  my  heart  into  my  head,  an'  ov  course  hit  fin- 
ished me  fer  a  time." 


An  Uncomfortable  Night.  53 

"  A  dead  faint,"  was  suggested. 

"  I  don't  like  thet  word,  stranger.  But,  the  boys  an'  dogs 
cum  on  me  a  second  arter.  Bill  Allen  cut  my  veins  an'  in  a 
short  time  I  cum  round,  but  I  war  sick  fer  a  week." 

"  How  about  the  bear  ?  " 

"  Hit  lay  dead  by  the  branch  below,  staubed  clean  through 
the  heart." 

Before  the  story  ended,  a  noise  like  thunder  came  rolling  to 
us, through  the  forests.  Owing  to  the  strange  time  of  the  year 
for  a  thunder  storm,  we  were  slow  in  realizing  that  one  was 
brooding,  but  repeated  peals  and  long  rumbling  echoes,  pre- 
ceded by  vivid  flashes  of  light  in  the  northern  sky,  soon  con- 
vinced us  of  this  fact.  The  wind  changed,  grew  stronger,  and 
soughed  dismally  through  the  trees.  Rain  began  pattering  on 
the  bark  roof:  it  came  in  slight  showers,  ceasing  with  each  gust 
and  flaw,  then  descending  in  torrent*  The  fire  grew  fiercer 
under  these  attempts  to  smother  it,  and  with  the  shifting  of  the 
wind,  much  to  our  discomfiture,  smoke  and  sparks  were  driven 
under  the  roof.  Occasionally,  a  strong  blast  would  make  us 
draw  up  our  feet  as  the  flames,  leveled  to  the  ground,  whirled 
in  on  us. 

The  situation  became  unendurable,  and  in  a  lull  of  the  storm 
we  crawled  out  in  the  open  air ;  tore  down  our  camp,  and 
changed  it  around  with  its  back  wall  towards  the  wind.  This 
occupied  but  a  few  minutes,  and  we  were  soon  ensconced  again. 
It  was  a  wretched  night.  We  lay  tight  together,  like  spoons, 
the  six  middle  men  being  well  protected  from  cold,  but  not 
from  leaks  in  the  roof.  The  two  end  men  fared  less  comfort- 
ably with  one  side  exposed.  No  one  slept  unless  it  was  the 
gra^-headed  Medford,  hardened  by  1001  nights  of  like  expe- 
rience. The  rain  ceased  before  morning,  but  the  tempera- 
ture was  considerably  below  the  freezing  point,  and  icicles  had 
formed  on  the  end  of  the  roof  fartherest  from  the  fire.  All 


54  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

night  we  had  shifted  and  changed  our  positions,  and  the  gray 
light  of  dawn  found  us  in  the  ashes,  seemingly  close  enough  to 
the  fire  to  blister  our  faces,  suffering  in  martyr-like  submission 
with  smoke  in  our  eyes  and  backs  cold. 

I  never  saw  a  man  with  a  good  appetite  for  breakfast  after  a 
night  of  wakefulness  beside  a  camp  fire.  After  a  long  tramp, 
you  can  eat  the  roughest  food  with  relish,  but  there  is  nothing 
tempting  about  hot  coffee  without  sugar  and  cream,  dry  corn- 
bread  and  fat  meat,  in  the  ashes,  on  a  cold,  raw  morning  before 
the  stars  have  paled  in  the  sky.  However,  on  the  unpleasant 
prospect  of  seven  hours  elapsing  before  another  snack,  on  this 
occasion  we  did  stuff  down  some  solid  food,  and  drank  copiously 
of  the  coffee. 

At  this  time  an  artist,  seated  at  some  distance  up  the  brook, 
would  have  seen  a  spectacle  of  striking  interest  for  the  subject 
of  a  painting.  In  the  ceftter  of  his  canvas  he  would  have  placed 
a  huge  fire  with  blaze,  ten  feet  high ;  behind  it,  half  hidden  by 
smoke  and  flame,  the  outlines  of  a  rude  shelter ;  around  it,  their 
rugged  features  brightly  lighted  up,  a  group  of  shivering 
mountaineers,  some  wrapped  to  their  hat  rims  in  blankets, 
others  with  closely  buttoned  coats,  and  all  squatting  on  the 
ground  or  standing  leaning  on  their  rifles ;  the  dogs  in  all  im- 
aginable postures,  either  crouched  close  to  the  fire,  or,  outside 
the  human  circle,  struggling  for  the  possession  of  a  dry  crust; 
the  great,  mossed  trunks  of  trees  springing  from  the  ferny  rocks 
and  slopes  on  which  moved  fantastic  shadows.  He  could  have 
shown  the  stillness  of  the  air  by  the  straightness  of  the  column 
of  ascending  smoke,  and  the  winter  chill  by  the  gaunt  branches 
encased  in  ice.  But  the  sounds  of  camp  life — striking  charac- 
teristics of  the  scene — would  have  eluded  him.  No  brush  could 
have  conveyed  to  the  canvas  the  snarling  of  the  dogs,  the  laugh 
of  a  strong-lunged  hunter,  or  Wid's  startling  imitation  of  the 


Peaks  and  Pinnacles  of  Silver.  5  cj 

hoot  of  the  owl,  awakening  the  echoes  of  the  gorges  and  re- 
sponses from  the  night-bird  just  repairing  to  his  roost. 

We  ascended  Old  Bald  by  a  trail  termed  the  "winds."  It 
was  icy  underfoot,  and  some  of  the  party  had  severe  falls  before 
we  issued,  from  the  dwarf  beeches,  upon  the  bare  backbone  of 
the  range.  Although  no  breeze  was  stirring  that  morning  on 
the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  a  bitter,  winter  blast  was  sweep- 
ing the  summit.  It  cut  through  our  clothing  like  wizard,  sharp- 
edged  knives  that  left  no  traces  except  the  tingling  skin.  This 
blast  had  chased  off  every  cloud,  leaving  clear,  indigo-blue 
depths  for  the  sun,  just  lifting  over  Cold  Spring  mountain,  to 
ride  through.  As  we  reached  the  bare,  culminating  point  of 
the  narrow  ridge  between  Old  Bald  and  Lone  Balsam,  the  sun 
had  cleared  himself  from  the  mountain  tops  ;  and,  red  and  round, 
doubly  increased  in  size,  he  was  shedding  his  splendor  on  a 
scene  unsurpassed  in  beauty  and  wild  sublimity.  The  night 
rain,  turning  to  sleet  on  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  had  en- 
cased the  black  balsam  forests,  covering  the  Spruce  Ridge  and 
Great  Divide,  in  armors  of  ice.  They  glistened  like  hills  and 
pinnacles  of  silver  in  the  sunlight.  Below  the  edges  of  these 
iced  forests,  stood  the  deciduous  trees  of  the  mountains,  brown 
and  bare.  No  traces  of  the  storm  clung  to  them.  The  hem- 
locks along  the  head-prongs  of  the  Richland  were  green  and 
dark  under  the  shadows  of  the  steep  declivities.  No  clouds 
were  clinging  to  the  streams  through  the  valleys,  and  visible  in 
all  the  glory  of  the  frosty  morn,  lay  the  vale  of  the  Richland, 
with  its  stream  winding  through  it  like  an  endless  silver  ribbon. 
The  white  houses  of  Waynesville  were  shining  in  the  sunlight 
pouring  through  the  'gap  towards  the  Pigeon.  No  smoke  was 
circling  above  their  roofs.  The  quiet  of  night  apparently  still 
pervaded  the  street.  High,  and  far  behind  it,  rose  the  mystic, 
purple  heights  of  the  Newfound. 

Qn    the    side    towards    the    south    the    scene   was    different. 


56  In  the  Haunts  of  tJic  Black  Bear. 

Mountains  are  here  rolled  so  closely  together  that  the  valleys 
between  them  are  hidden  from  sight.  There  are  no  pleasant 
vales,  dotted  with  clearings  or  animated  by  a  single  column  of 
cabin  smoke.  No  evergreens  are  to  be  seen  beyond  the  slope 
of  the  Balsams.  That  December  morning  the  vast  ranges 
looked  black  and  bare  under  the  cutting  wind,  and  far  off,  30 
miles  on  a  bee-line  through  space,  rose  Whiteside  and  its  neigh- 
boring peaks,  veritably  white  from  snow  mantling  their  sum- 
mits. 

Medford  had  been  right  in  his  prediction  ;  snow  had  fallen, 
but  not  in  our  immediate  vicinity.  Before  noon,  as  we  had 
good  reasons  to  believe,  the  wintry  character  of  the  scene  would 
be  changed  under  the  influence  of  the  sun  in  an  unclouded  sky. 
As  we  descended  into  the  low  gap  between  Lone  Balsam  and 
the  next  pinnacle  of  the  Balsams,  Ickes,  who  had  started  in  ad- 
vance, came  out  in  sight,  on  the  ridge  top,  at  a  point  some  dis- 
tance below  us.  Just  at  the  moment  he  appeared,  a  turkey 
rose,  like  a  buzzard,  out  of  the  winter  grass  near  him,  and  was 
about  to  make  good  its  flight  for  the  iced  forests  beyond,  when 
his  gun  came  to  his  shoulder,  a  flash  and  a  report  succeeded, 
and  the  great  bird  whirled  and  fell  straight  downward  into  the 
firs.  The  mountaineers  yelled  with  delight.  Shot-guns  being 
little  used  in  this  section,  shooting  on  the  wing  is  an  almost  un- 
heard of  art.  Not  one  of  those  bear  hunters  had  ever  seen  a 
shot  of  like  nature,  and  the  unostentatious  young  sportsman 
was  raised  to  a  high  notch  in  their  estimation.  When  we 
reached  him,  he  had  already  descended  into  the  grove  and  re- 
turned with  his  game.  It  was  somewhat  bruised,  and  feathers 
considerably  ruffled  from  falling  through  tree-tops  upon  a  rocky 
ground. 

A  mountain  turkey  is  no  small  game.  This  one  was  a  mag- 
nificent specimen  ;  a  royal  turkey-gobbler,  that  by  stretching  his 
brilliant  neck  would  have  stood  four  feet  high.  Stripped  of  his 


A  m  id  the  Firs .  $  7 

green  and  blue  bronzed  plumage,  and  prepared  for  the  oven, 
he  weighed  24  pounds.  In  the  neighborhood  of  Waynes- 
ville  I  have  bought  the  same  birds  about  Christmas  time  for 
50  cents  a  piece,  and  the  hunter,  who,  with  heavy  rifle,  had 
ranged  the  cold  mountain  top  before  day-break,  and  then 
brought  his  game  eight  miles  down  the  winding  trail,  felt  satis- 
fied with  this  sum  (all  he  had  asked)  as  compensation  for  his 
labor  and  skill  as  a  sportsman.  Perhaps  he  weighed  the  fun  of 
killing  the  bird  on  his  side  of  the  scales. 

We  now  reached  the  edge  of  the  great  forests  of  the  balsam 
firs, — forests  which  mantle  nearly  every  peak  above  6,000  feet 
in  altitude  in  North  Carolina.  The  balsam  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  evergreens.  When  transplanted,  as  it  is  occasion- 
ally, to  the  valleys  of  this  region,  it  forms  an  ornamental  tree 
of  marked  appearance,  with  its  dark  green,  almost  black,  foliage, 
its  straight,  tapering  trunk  and  symmetrical  body.  In  the  rich 
dark  soil  in  some  of  the  lofty  mountain  gaps  it  attains  to  a 
height  of  150  feet,  and  in  certain  localities  growing  so  thickly 
together  as  to  render  it  almost  impossible  for  the  hunters  to  fol- 
low the  bear  through  its  forests.  It  is  of  two  sorts,  differing  in 
many  particulars,  and  termed  the  black  and  white  or  male  and 
female  balsams.  Every  grove  is  composed  of  both  black  and 
white  balsams,  and  no  single  tree  is  widely  separated  from  its 
opposite  sex.  The  black  balsam  has  a  rougher  bark,  more 
ragged  limbs,  and  darker  foliage  than  the  white.  The  latter  is 
more  ornamental,  with  its  straight-shooting  branches  and 
smooth  trunk;  it  bears  blisters  containing  an  aromatic  resinous 
substance  of  peculiar  medicinal  properties.  A  high  price  is 
paid  for  this  balsam  of  firs,  but  it  seems  that  the  price  is  not  in 
proportion  to  the  amount  of  time  and  labor  necessary  to  be  ex- 
pended in  puncturing  the  blisters  for  their  contents,  for  very 
little  of  it  is  procured  by  the  mountaineers.  It  covers  every 
high  pinnacle  of  the  Balsam  mountains.  On  some  slopes, 


58  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

however,  extending  only  a  few  hundred  yards  down  from  the 
top  before  blending,  and  disappearing  into  the  deciduous  forests; 
but  on  other  slopes,  like  those  descending  to  the  west  prongs  of 
the  Pigeon,  it  reaches  downward  for  miles  from  the  summit  of 
the  mountains,  forming  the  wildest  of  wooded  landscapes. 

Although  the  observer,  from  the  outer  edge  of  this  sombre 
wood-line,  fails  to  see  any  foliage  but  that  of  the  balsam,  when 
he  enters  the  shadows  he  discovers  a  number  of  trees  and 
shrubs,  peculiar  to  the  firs  forests  of  the  extreme  mountain 
heights.  Of  the  trees  indigenious  to  the  valleys,  the  wild 
cherry  and  hawthorn  appear  to  be  the  only  species  growing 
here.  .  The  most  ornamental  of  the  trees  of  the  firs  forests  is  the 
Peruvian,  with  its  smooth,  slender  trunk,  and  great  branches  of 
brilliant  red  berries,  which  appear  in  the  early  fall  and  hang 
until  the  severest  frosts.  Its  bark  and  berries  taste  like  the 
kernel  of  a  peach-pit,  and  are  frequently  mixed  by  the  moun- 
taineers in  their  whisky,  as  a  bitters  having  the  flavor  of  peach 
brandy.  Here  also  spring  the  service  tree,  with  its  red,  eatable 
berry,  ripe  in  August ;  the  balsam  haw,  with  its  pleasant  tasting 
black  fruit ;  the  Shawnee  haw  ;  the  Peru  tree  ;  the  small  Indian 
arrow  wood;  and  thick  in  some  of  the  most  darkly  shaded 
localities,  hedges  of  the  balsam  whortle-berry,  a  peculiar  species 
of  that  bush,  bearing  in  October  a  jet  black  berry,  juicy  and 
palatable,  but  lacking  the  sweetness  of  the  common  whortle- 
berry, which  is  also  found  on  heights  above  6,000  feet  in  alti- 
tude. 

Scattered  near  these  hedges,  are  great  thickets  of  blackberry 
bushes.  It  is  a  fortunate  thing  for  the  hunters  obliged  to  break 
through  them  (sometimes  for  hundreds  of  yards),  that  they  are 
singularly  free  from  briers.  While  the  berries  are  ripe  in  July 
in  the  valleys,  these  are  green,  and  it  is  not  until  September 
and  October  that  they  become  mature.  The  bears  grow  fat 
in  such  gardens.  Peruvian  berries  are  a  great  delicacy  for 


Wid  on  Natural  History.  59 

them.  That  day,  on  the  Spruce  Ridge,  Wid  Medford  called 
my  attention  to  a  small  tree  of  this  kind,  no  more  than  four 
inches  through  at  the  base,  with  branches  broken  on  its  top 
about  15  feet  from  the  ground.  Deep  scratches  of  an  ani- 
mal's claws  were  visible  in  the  bark.  It  had  been  climbed  by 
a  bear  a  month  since ;  and  a  good-sized  bear  at  that,  judging 
from  the  distance  he  had  reached  from  where  his  claws  had  left 
their  imprint  to  the  highest  broken  branch.  The  wonder  was 
how  so  heavy  an  animal  had  climbed  a  tree  so  slender. 

In  this  connection,  I  had  with  the  old  hunter  an  interesting 
talk  containing  considerable  information  concerning  the  habits 
of  the  black  bear.  Whatever  Wid  Medford  says  on  natural 
history  can  be  accepted  as  truth  gained  by  him  through  long 
years  of  experience,  close  observation,  retained  by  a  good 
memory,  and  imparted,  as  such  matters  would  be,  without  any 
incentive  for  exaggeration.  His  quaint  vernacular  being  the 
most  fitting  medium  for  the  conveyance  of  the  sense  of  his 
remarks,  it  is  not  necessary  to  clothe  it  in  the  king's  English. 

"Wid,"  I  asked,   "  do  bears  sleep  all  winter?" 

"  Thet  calls  fer  more  o'  an  answer  than  a  shake  or  nod  o'  the 
head.  Bears  go  inter  winter  quarters  'tween  Christmas  an' 
New  Ye'r.  The  ole  he  bats  Tast  his  eyes  an'  never  shuffles  out 
till  about  the  fust  o'  May.  The  bearing  she  has  cubs  in  Feb'ry, 
an'  then  she  comes  out  fer  water  an'  goes  back  till  April  fust, 
when  she  mosies  out  fer  good." 

"  What  are  their  winter  quarters  ?" 

"Caves,  holler  trees,  or  bray-sheaps  cut  by  them  and  piled 
high  'ginst  a  log.  When  they  git  it  high  nuff,  they  dig  a 
tunnel  from  the  furder  side  o'  the  log,  an'  then  crawl  through 
an'  under  the  brashe. " 

"  Do  they  quarter  together  ?" 

"  No,  sar'ee  ;  every  one  alone." 

"  What  is  their  condition  when  they  come  out  ?" 


60  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

"  Fat  as  seals." 

"  That  would  be  the  best  time  to  kill  them,  wouldn't  it  ?" 
,    "  Yes,  but  you'd  hev  to  be  quick  about  it." 

"Why?" 

"  In  jist  a  few  days  they  grow  ez  lean  ez  a  two-acre  farm- 
yer's  hoss,  arter  corn  hez  been  a  dollar  an'  a  half  a  bushel  fer 
three  month,  an'  roughness  can't  be  got  fer  love  or  money. 
Jist  figger  to  yerself  the  weight  of  an  animal  under  sich  sarcum- 
stances.  The  fust  thing  they  eat  is  grasses,  weeds,  an'  green 
stuff  fer  a  physic,  an'  hit  has  a  powerful  effec'  on  runnin'  'em 
down  to  skin  an'  bone.  They're  mighty  tender-footed  tho' 
when,  the  daylight  fust  hits  'em  sq'ar  in  the  eyes,  an'  hit  don't 
take  long  fer  the  dogs  ter  git  'em  ter  stan'  an'  fight. " 

"  How  are  their  hides  in  April  and  May?" 

' 'Fine  ;  the  ha'r  is  thick,  long,  an'  black;  but  they  soon  be- 
gin ter  shed,  an'  hit's  not  till  cold  weather  agin  thet  they  make 
fit  skins  fer  tannin'." 

"  What  do  they  sell  at?" 

"Three  dollars  is  a  fa'r  price  fer  a  prime  hide." 

It  is  a  fact  worth  mentioning,  that  these  same  hides  are  sold 
at  $10,  and  even  as  high  as  $15  in  the  cities. 

"Now,"  I  inquired  with  considerable  interest,  "will  a  black 
bear  attack  a  man  ?" 

"  Hit  'pends  on  sarcumstances.  He  wouldn't  tech  the  illest 
human,  'les  he  war  cornered  an'  hed  to  fight  his  way  out,  or 
he  war  wounded,  or  hit  war  an  ole  she  with  cubs.  In  sich 
cases,  look  out,  I  say  !  I  memorize  one  time  thet  I  war  in  a 
tight  box.  Hit  war  down  on  Pigeon,  whar  the  laurel  is  too 
thick  fer  a  covey  o'  patridges  ter  riz  from.  Thar  war  one 
straight  trail  an'  I  war  in  it.  My  gun  war  empty.  I  heered 
the  dogs  a-comiri'  an'  knowed  without  axin'  thet  the  bar  war 
afore  'em.  I  never  hed  no  objections  ter  meetin5  a  varmint  in 
a  squar,  stan'-up  fight, — his  nails  agin  my  knife,  ye  know;  so 


In  Close  Quarters.  6 1 

without  wunct  thinkin'  on  gittin'  outer  the  way,  I  retched  fer 
my  sticker.  The  tarnal  thing  war  gone,  an'  thar  war  me  with- 
out a  weepin'  big  enuffto  skin  a  boomer.  I  run  along  lookin' 
at  the  laurel  on  both  sides,  but  thar  warn't  a  place  in  it  fer  a 
man  ter  git  even  one  leg  in.  Ticklish?  You're  sound  thar! 
I  didn't  know  what  the  devil  ter  do,  an'  I  got  all  in  a  sweat,  an* 
drawin'  nigher,  nigher,  up  the  windin'  trail  I  heerd  the  varmint 
comin'.  Wai,  I  drappedon  my  elbows  an'  knees  squaracross  the 
narrer  path,  so  narrer  thet  I  hed  ter  hump  myself  up.  I  kinder 
squinted  out  one  side,  to  see  the  percession,  ye  know.  Hit 
cum:  a  big  monster  brute,  with  a  loose  tongue  hangin'  out,  an' 
red  eyes.  He  war  trottin  like  a  stage-hoss.  He  never  stopped, 
even  to  sniff  me,  but  puttin'  his  paws  on  my  back,  as  tho'  I  war 
a  log,  he  jist  leaped  over  me  an'  war  out  o'  sight  in  a  jerk. 
The  dogs  war  clus  on  his  heels,  a  snappin'  away,  an'  every  one 
o'  'em  jumped  over  me  as  kerless  like  as  him,  an'  raced  along 
without  ever  stoppin'  ter  lick  ther  master's  han'." 

"Do  you  like  hunting?"   I  asked,  as  he  finished. 

"  Good  law!" 

That  was  his  sole  answer,  but  with  the  astounded  look  on  his 
face,  it  expressed  everything. 

"Wid,  your  life  has  been  one  long,  rough  experience.  If 
you  had  it  to  live  over  again,  knowing  as  much  as  you  do  now, 
how  would  you  live  ?" 

As  though  the  question  was  one  he  had  thought  over  again 
and  again,  without  hesitating  a  moment,  he  laid  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder  and  said  : 

"I'd  git  me  a  neat  woman,  an'  go  to  the  wildest  kentry  in 
creation,  an'  hunt  frorri  the  day  I  was  big  nuff  to  tote  a  rifle- 
gun,  ontil  ole  age  an'  roomaticks  fastened  on  me." 

Just  after  shooting  the  wild  turkey  we  prepared  to  separate. 
The  hounds  were  all  leashed  with  ropes  and  fresh  bark  straps. 
Four  of  the  hunters  held  them  in  check.  This  was  done  to 


62  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

prevent  them  starting  on  the  track  of  a  wild  cat  or  wolf.  The 
Judyculla  drive  was  the  first  one  to  be  undertaken.  It  is  a 
wild,  tumbled  forest  of  balsams,  matted  laurels  and  briers,  on 
the  south  slope  of  the  Spruce  Ridge.  When  a  bear  is  started 
in  the  valleys,  or  on  the  slopes  above  it,  he  always  climbs  the 
mountain,  crossing  through  one  of  its  lowest  gaps,  and  then 
plunges  down  the  rugged  heights  into  the  wilderness  lying  on 
the  opposite  side. 

The  stands  for  the  Judyculla  drive  are  on  the  backbone 
between  the  Spruce  Ridge  and  the  Great  Divide.  Through 
some  one  of  them  Bruin  always  passes  on  his  way  to  the  waters 
of  Richland  creek.  The  drivers  with  fourteen  dogs  now  de- 
scended the  ridge,  and  four  of  us,  designated  as  standers,  with 
three  dogs,  entered  the  forest  of  balsams.  The  three  dogs 
were  to  be  held  in  check  by  one  of  the  standers,  and  only  to  be 
loosened  to  take  up  the  fresh  trail  when  Bruin  should  cross,  as 
he  might,  through  one  of  the  mountain  gaps.  At  fifteen  steps 
one  seems  to  be  in  the  heart  of  the  woods.  The  light,  so 
strongly  shed  on  the  open  meadows  beyond  the  outskirts,  is 
lost  ;  the  thickly  set  trees  intercept  it  and  one's  sight  from 
detecting  that  an  open  expanse  lies  so  near. 

The  transition  from  the  broad  daylight  of  the  meadows  to 
the  darkness  of  the  fir  forests  is  not  always  as  sudden.  The 
approach  from  the  Cold  Spring  mountain  side  is  entirely  differ- 
ent. For  the  first  few  square  rods  the  trees — straight,  beauti- 
ful evergreens — are  set  widely  apart.  A  green,  closely-cut 
sward,  soft  for  the  foot,  covers  the  rounded  mountain  side. 
The  few  rocks  lying  here  are  so  green  and  thick-grown  with 
moss  and  lichens  that  they  appear  like  artificial  mounds.  Over 
all  broods  a  slumberous  silence,  unbroken  but  for  the  march  of 
the  forces  of  the  storm,  the  tinkling  bells  of  lost  cattle,  the 
voice  of  an  occasional  hunter,  the  singing  of  the  mountain 
boomer,  or  the  howl  of  wolves.  It  seems  like  a  vast  cemetery. 


The  Path  of  a  Hurricane.  63 

Although  in  December,  a  luxuriant  greenness  mantled  every- 
thing, except  where  beds  of  ferns  had  found  root  and  then  faded 
with  the  approach  of  autumn,  or  the  yellow  leaves  of  the  few 
scattered  hard  wood  trees  lay  underfoot.  The  rich,  black  soil  was 
well  grown  with  that  species  of  grass  that  dies  during  the  sum- 
mer and  springs  up  heavy  and  green  in  the  fall.  Mosses,  with 
stems  and  leaves  like  diminutive  ferns,  covered  every  ledge  of 
rock  and  crag,  and  formed  for  the  trail  a  carpet  soft  and  springy. 
This  trail  is  as  crooked  as  a  rail  fence,  and  as  hard  to  follow  as 
it  would  be  to  follow  closely  the  convolutions  of  a  rail  fence, 
where  every  corner  had  been  used  as  a  receptacle  for  gathered 
rocks,  and  left  for  nature  to  plant  with  the  hazel  and  blackberry. 
It  was  hard  enough  to  crawl  up  and  down  the  moss-mantled 
rocks  and  cliffs,  and  over  or  under  an  occasional  giant  balsam 
that,  yellow  with  age,  had  fallen  from  its  own  feebleness ;  but, 
along  the  narrow  backbone  approaching  the  Great  Divide,  a 
recent  hurricane  had  spread  such  devastation  in  its  path  as  to 
render  walking  many  times  more  difficult. 

For  two  miles,  along  this  sharp  ridge,  nearly  every  other  tree 
had  been  whirled  by  the  storm  from  its  footing.  They  not 
only  covered  the  path  with  their  trunks  bristling  with  straight 
branches;  but,  instead  of  being  cut  off  short,  the  wind  had  torn 
them  up  by  the  roots,  lifting  thereby  all  the  soil  from  the  black- 
rocks,  and  leaving  great  holes  for  us  to  descend  into,  cross  and 
then  ascend.  It  was  a  continual  crawl  and  climb  for  this  dis- 
tance. 

There  were  only  three  stands,  and  Wid  and  I,  with  the  three 
dogs,  occupied  one  of  these.  It  was  a  rather  low  dip  in  the 
ridge.  We  seated  ourselves  on  a  pile  of  rocks,  upholstered 
with  mosses,  making  an  easy  and  luxurious  couch.  A  gentle 
hollow  sloped  down  toward  where  lay  the  tangles  of  the  Judy- 
culla  drive.  A  dense,  black  forest  surrounded  us.  Where  the 
hollow  reached  the  center  line  of  the  rid^e  it  sunk  down  on  the 


64  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

other  side  rather  abruptly  toward  the  Richland.  This  was  the 
wildest  front  of  the  mountain.  At  one  point  near  the  stand  an 
observer  can  look  down  into  what  is  called  the  Gulfs.  The 
name  is  appropriate.  It  is  an  abyss  as  black  as  night.  Its 
depth  is  fully  2,000,  possibly  2,500  feet.  No  stream  can  be 
seen.  It  is  one  great,  impenetrable  wilderness. 

.The  bear-hunters  are  the  only  men  familiar  with  these  head- 
waters of  the  Richland.  At  the"  foot  of  the  steep,  funereal  wall 
lies  one  spot  known  as  Hell's  Half-acre.  Did  you  ever  notice, 
in  places  along  the  bank  of  a  wide  woodland  river,  after  a  spring 
flood,  the  great  piles  of  huge  drift-logs,  sometimes  covering  an 
entire  field,  and  heaped  as  high  as  a  house?  Hell's  Half-acre 
is  like  one  of  these  fields.  It  is  wind  and  time,  however,  which 
bring  the  trees,  loosened  from  their  hold  on  the  dizzy  heights 
and  craggy  slopes,  thundering  down  into  this  pit. 

The  "Chimbleys  and  Shinies,"  as  called  by  the  mountaineers, 
form  another  feature  of  the  region  of  the  Gulfs.  The  former 
are  walls  of  rock,  either  bare  or  overgrown  with  wild  vines  and 
ivy.  They  take  their  name  from  their  resemblance  to  chimneys 
as  the  fogs  curl  up  their  faces  and  away  from  their  tops.  The 
Shinies  are  sloping  ledges  of  rock,  bare  like  the  Chimneys,  or 
covered  with  great  thick  plats  of  shrubs,  like  the  poisonous 
hemlock,  the  rhododendron,  and  kalmia.  Water  usually  trick- 
les over  their  faces.  In  winter  it  freezes,  making  surfaces  that, 
seen  from  a  distance,  dazzle  the  eye. 

The  trees  began  to  drip  as  we  sat  there,  and  the  air  grew 
warm.  With  this  warmth  a  little  life  was  awakened  in  the  sober 
and  melancholy  forest.  A  few  snow-birds  twittered  in  the  bal- 
sams ;  the  malicious  blue-jay  screamed  overhead,  and  robins, 
now  and  then,  flew  through  the  open  space.  The  most  curious 
noise  of  these  forests  is  that  of  the  boomer,  a  small  red  squir- 
rel, native  to  the  Alleghanies.  He  haunts  the  hemlock-spruce, 
and  the  firs,  and  unlike  the  gray  squirrel,  the  presence  of  man 


The  Opening  Chorus.  65 

seems  to  make  him  all  the  more  noisy.  Perched,  at  what  he 
evidently  deems  a  safe  distance,  amid  the  lugubrious  evergreen 
foliage  of  stately  balsams,  he  sings  away  like  the  shuttle  of  a 
sewing-machine.  The  unfamiliar  traveler  would  insist  that  it 
was  a  bird  thus  rendering  vocal  the  forest. 

Wid  had  been  silent  for  several  minutes.  Suddenly  he  laid 
his  hand  softly  on  my  knee,  and  without  saying  a  word  pointed 
to  the  dogs.  They  lay  at  our  feet,  with  ropes  round  their  necks 
held  by  the  old  hunter.  Three  noses  were  slightly  elevated  in 
the  air,  and  the  folds  of  six  long  ears  turned  back.  A  moment 
they  were  this  way,  then,  as  a  slight  breeze  came  to  us  from  the 
south,  they  jumped  to  their  feet,  as  though  electrified,  and 
began  whining. 

"Thar's  suthin'  in  the  wind,"  whispered  Wid.  "  I  reckon 
hits  the  music  o'  the  pack.  Sh !  Listen!" 

A  minute  passed,  in  which  Wid  kicked  the  dogs  a  dozen 
times  to  quiet  them,  and  then  we  heard  a  faint  bell-like  tinkle. 
The  likening  of  the  baying  of  a  pack  of  hounds  to  the  tinkling  of 
bells  is  as  true  in  fact  as  it  is  beautiful  in  simile.  There  is  every 
intonation  of  bells  of  all  descriptions,  changing  with  distance  and 
location.  It  was  a  mellow,  golden  chiming  at  the  beginning; 
then  it  grew  stronger,  stronger,  until  it  swung  through  the  air 
like  the  deep  resonant  tones  of  church  bells.  Did  you  ever 
hear  it  sweeping  up  a  mountain  side?  It  would  light  with 
animation  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  had  never  pulled  a  trigger; 
but  how  about  the  hunter  who  hears  it?  He  feels  all  the 
inspiration  of  the  music,  but  mingled  with  it  are  thoughts  of  a 
practical  nature,  and  a  sportsman's  kindling  ardor  to  see  the 
"varmint"  that  rings  the  bells. 

It  steadily  grew  louder,  coming  with  every  echo  right  up  the 
wooded  slope. 

"They're  on  the  trail  now,  shore,"  remarked  Wid,"  an  hit-'ll 
keep  the  bar  hoppin'  ter  climb  this  'ere  mounting  without 


66  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear, 

whoppin'  some  o'  'em  off.  I  reckon  I'd  better  unlimber  my 
gun." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  old  hunter  laid  his  flint- 
lock rifle  across  his  knees,  and  with  deliberation  fixed  the  prim- 
ing anew  in  the  pan.  As  he  did  so,  he  kept  talking ;  "Hark 
sharp,  an'  you  kin  hear  my  slut's  voice  like  a  cow-bell.  She's 
the  hound  fer  ye  tho'.  Her  legs  are  short,  her  tail  stubby  an' 
her  hide  yaller,  but  thar's  no  pearter  hound  in  the  kentry. " 

"Are  they  likely  to  wind  and  overtake  the  bear  coming  up 
the  mountain?"  I  asked. 

' '  Yes,  sar ;  a  dog  travels  the  faster  comin'  up  hill,  but  when 
wunst  the  varmint  turns  ter  go  down  hill,  the  pack  mought  ez 
well  try  ter  ketch  a  locomotion  an'  keers.  I've  heered  tell  thet 
them  things  go  sixty  mile  an  hour.  Wai,  a  bar  is  trumps  goin' 
down  hill.  They  don't  stop  fer  nuthin'.  They  go  down  prici- 
pises  head-fust,  rollin'  an'  jumpin'.  Now  a  dog  hez  to  pick  his 
way  in  sich  places." 

We  waited  ;  the  baying  was  bearing  towards  the  east  below 
us/  Then  it  seemed  ascending.  An  expression  of  astonish- 
ment spread  over  Wid's  face.  "Hits  cur'ous!  "  he  exclaimed. 

'  'What?" 

"Why  them  dogs  is  racin'  like  deer.  Thet  proves  thet  the 
bar  is  fur  ahead,  an'  they're  close  to  the  top  o'  the  ridge  at  Eli's 
stan'.  The  bar  must  hev  crossed  thar.  But  Good  Jim  !  why 
aint  he  shot?  Come,  lets  git  out  o'  this." 

The  three  dogs  tugged  on  ahead  of  us.  We  traveled  through 
a  windfall  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  then  came  into  the  stand 
to  find  it  vacant,  and  the  hounds  baying  on  the  slopes,  towards 
the  Richland.  They  had  crossed  the  gap,  hounds  and  hunters, 
too  ;  for  a  moment  after  we  heard  the  musical  notes  from  a 
horn  wound  by  some  one  in  the  lower  wilderness.  It  was 
wound  to  tell  the  standers  to  pass  around  the  heights  to  the 
lofty  gaps  between  the  Richland  and  the  waters  of  the  Pigeon. 


An  Ebon  Mountain.  67 

As  was  afterwards  related,  the  bear  had  passed  through  Eli's 
stand,  but  Eli  was  not  there  on  account  of  his  mistaking  and 
occupying  for  a  drive-way  a  gully  that  ended  in  a  precipice  on 
either  side  of  the  ridge.  He,  with  the  other  stander,  soon 
joined  us  and  we  pushed  along  the  trail,  towards  the  summit  of 
the  Great  Divide. 

This  mountain  stands  6,425  feet  above  the  sea,  and  is  the 
loftiest  of  the  Balsams.  Among  the  Cherokees  it  is  known  as 
Younaguska,  named  in  honor  of  an  illustrious  chief.  Except 
when  the  king  of  winter,  puffing  his  hollow  cheeks,  wraps  the 
sharp  summits  in  the  pure  white  mantle  of  the  snow,  or  locks 
them  in  frosted  armor,  the  Great  Divide  with  its  black,  unbroken 
forests  of  fir,  ever  rises  an  ebon  mountain.  Its  fronts  are 
gashed,  on  the  east,  south  and  north  sides,  by  the  headwaters 
of  the  Pigeon,  Caney  Fork  and  Richland.  For  the  reason  of 
the  two  last-mentioned  streams  springing  here,  the  mountain  is 
termed  by  some  geographers  the  Caney  Fork  or  the  Richland 
Balsam  mountain. 

Three  distinct  spurs  of  mountains,  forming  portions  of  the 
great  Balsam  chain,  lead  away  from  it  as  from  a  hub.  One, 
trending  in  a  due  west  course,  splits  into  various  connected  but 
distinct  ranges ;  and,  after  leaping  a  low  gap,  culminates  in  a  lofty 
cluster  of  balsam-crowned  peaks,  known  as  the  Junaluska  or 
Plott  group,  seven  of  which  are  over  6,000  feet  in  altitude. 
The  spur  towards  the  north  terminates  in  Lickstone  and  its  foot- 
hills; while  the  one  bearing  east,  a  long,  massive  black  wall, 
holding  six  pinnacles  in  altitude  above  6,000  feet,  breaks  into 
ranges  terminating  in  the  Cold  mountain,  Pisgah,  and  far  to  the 
south,  the  Great  Hogback. 

From  this  description  the  reader  may  have  some  conception, 
however  faint,  of  the  majesty  of  the  Balsam  range,  the  longest 
of  the  transverse  chains  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the 
Smokies,  and  forming  with  its  high  valleys,  numerous  mountains 


68  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

and  those  lofty  summits  of  the  Great  Smoky  chain  towards 
which  it  trends,  the  culminating  region  of  the  Alleghanies. 

On  the  south  brow  of  the  Great  Divide,  only  a  few  feet  lower 
than  the  extreme  summit,  lies  an  open  square  expanse  of  about 
20  acres  embosomed  in  the  black  balsams.  It  has  every  fea- 
ture peculiar  to  a  clearing  left  for  nature  to  train  into  its  primi- 
tive wildness,  but  in  all  its  abandonment  the  balsams  have 
singularly  failed  to  encroach  upon  it  ;  and,  as  though  restrained 
by  sacred  lines  which  they  dare  not  pass,  stand  dense  and  som- 
bre around  its  margin.  Its  gentle  slope  is  covered  thick  with 
whortleberry  bushes,  in  this  instance,  contrary  to  the  nature  of 
that  shrub,  springing  from  a  rich,  black  soil.  Only  one  small 
clump  of  trees,  near  the  upper  edge,  mars  the  level  surface  of 
the  shrubs.  It  is  called  the  Judyculla  old  field,  and  the  tradi- 
tion held  by  the  Indians  is  that  it  is  one  of  the  footprints  of 
Satan,  as  he  stepped,  during  a  pre-historic  walk,  from  mountain 
to  mountain. 

We  were  informed  by  mountaineers  that  flint  arrow  heads 
and  broken  pieces  of  pottery  have  been  found  in  this  old  field, 
showing  almost  conclusively  that  some  of  the  Cherokees  them- 
selves^  or  the  nation  that  built  the  many  mounds,  laid  the 
buried  stone  walls  and  worked  the  ancient  mica  mines,  occu- 
pied it  as  an  abiding  place  for  years. 

There  are  other  bare  spots  on  these  mountains  known  as 
scalds,  and  like  this  old  field,  situated  in  the  heart  of  fir  forests. 
They  are  grown  with  matted  ivy,  poisonous  hemlock  and  briers, 
but  traces  of  the  fire,  that  at  recent  date  swept  them  of  their 
timber,  are  to  be  seen.  In  a  few  years  the  wilderness  will  have 
reclaimed  them ;  but  the  Judyculla  old  field  will  remain,  as  now, 
a  mysterious  vistage,  which  the  mutilations  of  time  cannot 
efface. 

Through  a  dark  aisle,  leading  from  the  summit  of  the  Great 
Divide,  we  descended  to  the  Brier  Patch  gap ;  and  here  one  of 


Calling  in  the  Drivers.  69 

our  number  was  stationed,  while  the  rest  of  us  toiled  up  a 
nameless  black  spur,  crossed  it  and  dropped  slowly  down  to 
Grassy  gap.  It  was  past  noon,  and  while  we  listened  to  the 
low  baying  of  the  hounds  in  the  depths,  we  munched  at  a  snack 
of  corn  bread  and  boiled  corned  beef.  In  the  meantime,  Wid 
was- examining  the  trail  from  one  slope  to  the  other.  He  would 
peer  closely  into  every  clump  of  briers,  pulling  them  apart  with 
his  hands,  and  bend  so  low  over  the  grasses  along  the  path,  that 
the  black  strip  in  his  light  colored  trousers,  hidden  by  his 
brown  coat  tails  when  he  walked  erect,  would  be  exposed  to 
view. 

At  length  he  paused  and  called  us  to  him.  The  branch  of  a 
whortleberry  bush,  to  which  he  pointed,  was  freshly  broken  off, 
and  in  the  black  soft  soil,  close  to  the  trail,  was  the  visible  im- 
print of  a  bears'  paw.  Bruin  evidently  had  a  long  start  on  the 
pack,  and  having  climbed  up  from  the  gulf,  had  passed  through 
Grassy  gap,  and  descended  to  the  Pigeon.  We  now  all  fired 
our  guns  in  order  to  bring  the  hunters  and  hounds  as  soon 
as  possible  to  us. 

It  was  4  o'clock,  and  the  shadows  were  growing  bluer,  when 
up  through  the  laurel  tangles,  out  from  under  the  service-trees, 
hawthornes,  and  balsams,  came  the  pack, — one  dog  after 
another,  the  first  five  or  six,  in  quick  succession,  and  the  others 
straggling  after.  Wid  seemed  to  deliberate  a  moment  about 
stopping  them  or  not ;  but,  as  they  raced  by,  he  cut  the  thongs 
of  the  three  dogs  which  we  had  kept  all  day,  remarking:  "Let 
'em  rip.  Hits  too  late  fer  us  to  foller,  tho'.  We'll  hev  ter  lay 
by  at  the  Double  spring  till  mornin'.  I'd  kep'  'em  in  check, 
too,  but  hit  may  snow  to-night  and  thet  wud  spile  the  scent  an' 
hide  the  track.  They'll  cum  up  with  'im  by  dark,  an'  then 
badger  'im  till  daylight  an'  we'uns  git  thar. " 

"Won't  they  leave  the  trail  at  dark?"  was  asked. 

"Never!     Why,  I've  knowed  my  ole  hounds  ter  stick  to  hit 


70  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

fer  three  days  without  nary  bite  o'  meat,  'cept  what  they  peeled, 
now  an'  then,  from  the  varmint's  flanks." 

All  the  hunters  soon  came  straggling  in  ;  and  as  a  soft,  but 
cold  evening  breeze  fanned  the  mountain  glorified  with  the  light 
of  fading  day,  and  the  vales  of  the  Pigeon  grew  blue-black  un- 
der the  heavy  shadows  of  the  Balsam  range,  we  filed  into  the 
cove  where  bubbles  the  Double  spring,  and  made  preparations 
for  supper  and  shelter  similar  to  the  previous  night. 

As  it  grew  darker  the  breeze  entirely  died  away,  leaving  that 
dead,  awful  hush  that  oftentimes  precedes  a  heavy  snow  storm. 
The  branches  of  the  mountain  mahogany  hung  motionless  over 
the  camp.  Around,  the  stripped  limbs  of  ancient  beeches,  and 
the  white,  dead  branches  of  blasted  hemlocks,  unswayed  and 
noiseless,  .caught  the  bright  light  of  the  fire.  The  mournful 
howl  of  the  wolves  from  points  beyond  intervening  dismal  de- 
files, now  and  then  came  through  the  impenetrable  darkness  to 
our  ears. 

Snow  began  steadily  falling, — that  soft,  flaky  sort  of  snow, 
which  seems  to  descend  without  a  struggle,  continues  for 
hours,  and  then  without  warning  suddenly  ceases.  All  night  it 
fell,  sifting  through  our  ill-constructed  shelter,  burying  us  in  its 
white  folds  and  extinguishing  the  fire.  Notwithstanding  the 
presence  of  this  unwelcome  visitant,  we  slept  soundly.  Sleep 
generally  finds  an  easy  conquest  over  healthy  bodies,  fatigued 
with  a  late  past  night  of  wakefulness,  and  an  all  day's  travel 
through  rugged  mountains. 

I  awoke  to  find  my  legs  asleep  from  the  weight  of  a  fellow- 
sleeper's  legs  crossed  over  them.  As  I  sat  up,  leaning  my 
elbows  on  the  bodies  of  two  mountaineers  packed  tight  against 
me,  I  saw  the  old  hunter,  on  his  hands  and  knees  in  the  snow, 
bending  over  a  bed  of  coals  surrounded  by  snow-covered  fire- 
logs.  Some  live  coals,  awakened  by  the  hunter's  breath,  were 
glowing  strong  enough  for  me  to  thus  descry  his  dark  form,  and 


A  Sunrise  Prospect.  71 

the  clear  features  and  puffed  cheeks  of  his  face.  He  had  a 
struggle  before  the  flames  sprung  up  and  began  drying  the  wet 
timbers.  It  was  still  dark  around  us,  but  a  pale,  rosy  light  was 
beginning  to  suffuse  the  sky,  from  which  the  storm-clouds  had 
been  driven. 

While  part  of  the  company  prepared  breakfast,  the  rest  of  us 
picked  our  way  through  the  shoe-mouth-deep  snow  to  the  sum- 
mit of  Cold  Spring  mountain.  It  was  the  prospect  of  a  sunrise 
on  mountains  of  snow  that  called  us  forth.  The  sky  was 
radiant  with  light  when  -we  reached  the  desired  point ;  but  the 
sun  was  still  hidden  behind  the  symmetrical  summit  of  Cold 
mountain,  the  terminal  peak  of  the  snowy  and  shadowed  range 
looming  across  the  dark,  narrow  valley  of  the  upper  Pigeon. 
Light  was  pouring,  through  an  eastern  gap,  upon  the  wide  vale 
of  the  river  far  to  the  north.  In  its  bottom  lay  a  silver  fog. 
Snow-mantled  mountains  embosomed  it.  It  resembled  the 
interior  of  a  great  porcelain  bowl,  with  a  rim  of  gold  appearing 
round  it  as  day-light  grew  stronger.  Fifty  miles  away,  with 
front  translucent  and  steel-blue,  stood  the  Black  mountains. 
Apparently  no  snow  had  fallen  on  them.  Their  elevated, 
rambling  crest,  like  the  edge  of  a  broken-toothed,  cross-cut  saw, 
was  visible. 

After  breakfast  we  started  on  the  backbone  of  the  Balsam 
range  for  the  Rich  mountain,  distant  about  eight  miles.  It 
was  a  picturesque  body  of  men,  that  in  single  file  waded  in  the 
snow  under  the  burdened  balsams,  and  crawled  over  the  white- 
topped  logs.  The  head  youth  from  Caney  Fork  had  his  hat 
pulled  down  so  far  over  his  ears,  to  protect  them  from  the  cold, 
that  half  of  his  heady  flaunting  yellow  locks,  was  exposed  above 
the  tattered  felt,  and  only  the  lower  portion  of  his  pale,  weak 
face  appeared  below  the  rim.  His  blue,  homespun  coat  hardly 
reached  the  top  of  his  pantaloons ;  and  his  great,  horny  hands, 
and  arms  half  way  to  the  elbows  protruded  from  torn  sleeves. 


72  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

There  was  no  necessity  for  him  to  roll  up  his  pantaloons ;  for  so 
short  were  they  that  his  stork-like  legs  were  not  covered  by 
fifteen  inches  from  the  heels.  Next  behind  him  came  Wid,  with 
his  face  as  red  as  ever,  and  his  long  hair  the  color  of  the  snow. 
Then  followed  Allen,  a  thick-set,  sturdy  youth  from  the  Rich- 
land.  He  gloried  in  his  health  and  vigor,  and  to  show  it,  wore 
nothing  over  his  back  but  a  thin  muslin  shirt.  He  whistled  as 
he  walked,  and  laughed  and  halloed  till  the  forests  responded, 
whenever  a  balsam  branch  dislodged  its  snow  upon  his  head  and 
shoulders.  Noah  Harrison,  another  valley  farmer,  who  likes 
hunting  better  than  farming,  came  next.  He  was  a  matter-of- 
fact  fellow,  and  showed  his  disrelish  to  the  snow  by  picking,  with 
his  keen  eyes,  his  steps  in  the  foot-prints  of  those  ahead.  Jonas 
Medford,  a  stout,  mustached  son  of  the  old  hunter,  followed 
behind  the  three  young  fellows  who  wore  store  clothes  and  car- 
ried breech-loading  shot-guns,  instead  of  the  rifles  borne  by  the 
natives. 

When  half-way  round  the  ridge,  we  caught  faint  echoes  from 
the  hounds  below.  The  sound  was  as  stirring  in  tone  as  the 
reveille  of  the  camp.  A  minute  after,  our  party  was  broken 
into  sections,  every  one  being  left  to  pick  his  way  as  best  he 
could  to  the  scene  of  the  fight  between  the  dogs  and  bear. 
Naturally,  the  three  young  fellows  in  store  clothes  stayed  together. 
A  balsam  slope  is  the  roughest  ever  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man. 
The  rhododendrons  and  kalmias  are  perfect  net-works.  In  them  a 
man  is  in  as  much  danger  of  becoming  irrecoverably  entangled 
unto  death  as  a  fly  in  a  spider's  web ;  but,  in  the  excitement 
caused  by  that  faint  chiming  of  the  hounds,  no  one  seemed  to 
think  of  the  danger  of  being  lost  in  the  labyrinths. 

Luckily,  before  we  three  had  proceeded  100  yards  down  a 
steep  declivity,  we  struck  the  channel  of  a  tiny  brook.  Hedges 
of  rhododendron  grow  rankly  along  it,  on  both  sides,  and  almost 
meet  over  the  clear,  rushing  water.  It  would  be  impossible  for 


Face  to  Face  with  Bmin.  73 

a  man  to  penetrate  these  hedges  for  any  great  distance,  unless 
time  was  of  no  object  whatever.  The  path  of  the  torrent 
affords  the  path  for  the  hunter.  We  had  on  rubber  boots,  and 
so  waded  in.  following  it  down  a  devious  course.  It  was  an 
arduous  walk.  At  times  slippery  rocks  sent  us  floundering; 
boulders  intercepted  us,  and  the  surface  of  deep  pools  rose 
higher  than  our  boot-tops.  For  two  miles  we  pushed  on,  our 
ardor  being  kept  aflame  by  the  increasing  noise  of  the  pack,  and 
a  few  minutes  later,  we  reached  the  scene  of  the  struggle. 

The  fight  between  two  dogs  on  a  village  street  affords  great 
interest  to  the  mixed  crowd  that  gathers  around  it ;  cocks 
pitted  against  each  other  collect  the  rabble,  and  the  bull  fight 
of  Spain  furnishes  a  national  amusement  ;  but  of  all  fights  that 
between  a  pack  of  ravenous  dogs  and  a  frenzied  bear  is  the 
most  exciting.  But  few  persons  are  ever  accorded  a  sight  of 
this  nature.  It  can  never  be  forgotten  by  them.  This  is  what 
we  saw  on  issuing  from  the  laurel  :  A  white  wintry  expanse, 
free  from  undergrowth,  on  which  the  trees  were  set  a  little  fur- 
ther apart  than  usual ;  back  of  us  the  stream  ;  while  across  the 
open  expanse,  at  the  distance  of  twenty  yards,  a  leaning  cliff 
with  the  wild  vines  on  its  front  sprinkled  with  snow,  and  its 
top  hidden  from  view  by  the  giant  hemlocks  before  it.  Close  at 
the  base  of  one  of  these  hemlocks,  reared  on  his  haunches,  sat 
a  shaggy  black  bear.  He  was  licking  his  chops  ;  and,  holding 
his  fore  paws  up  in  approved  pugilistic  style,  was  coolly  eyeing 
ten  hounds,  which,  forming  a  semi-circle,  distant  about  ten  feet 
before  him,  were  baying  and  barking  with  uplifted  heads  and 
savage  teeth  exposed.  One  poor  hound,  with  skull  cracked  by 
Bruin's  paw,  lay  within  the  circle.  At  the  foot  of  a  hemlock 
near  us  sat  two  bleeding  curs,  and  one  with  a  broken  leg  began 
dragging  himself  toward  us. 

By  exposing  ourselves  we  lost  our  chances  for  a  shot;  for,  as 
soon  as  we  came  in  view,  the  hounds,  encouraged  by  the  sight 


74 


In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 


of  men,   sprang  at.  their  antagonist   with   redoubled  fury  and 
increased  yelping.      It  would   have  been   impossible  for  us  to 


THE    FINAL    STRUGGLE. 


have  made  a  shot  with  our  shotguns  without  having  killed  or 
disabled   several  of  the  hounds  ;    so  with   triggers   cocked  we 


The  Death  Shot.  75 

bided  our  time  and  with  interest  watched  the  combat.  Judging 
by  his  methods  of  defense,  Bruin  was  an  adept  in  that  line. 
He  had  had  time  for  experience,  for  he  was  a  great,  shaggy  fel- 
low with  gray  tufts  of  hair  on  his  head.  He  showed  his  teeth 
and  growled  as  the  dogs  kept  jumping  at  him.  A  twelve  hour 
fight,  in  which  several  of  the  pack  had  been  rendered  incapable 
of  attack,  had  given  caution  to  the  remainder,  and  they  were 
extremely  wary  about  taking  their  nips  at  him. 

During  the  melee  that  for  the  next  minute  ensued,  one  savage 
hound  was  caught  in  the  clutches  of  the  bear  and  hugged  and 
bitten  to  death  ;  while,  taking  advantage  of  the  momentary 
exposure  of  his  sides,  the  others  of  the  pack  fell  upon  old  Bruin 
until  he  was  completely  hidden  under  the  struggling  mass.  He 
had  just  shaken  them  off  again  and  recovered  his  balance,  when 
a  rifle  shot  sounded,  and  a  puff  of  white  smoke  arose  from  under 
a  spruce  at  the  edge  of  the  laurel  thicket.  The  noise  of  the 
fight  had  prevented  us  hearing  the  approach  of  Wid,  the  old 
hunter.  I  looked  from  him  at  the  group.  Bruin  had  fallen 
forward  on  his  face.  Every  dog  was  on  his  body,  now  writh- 
ing in  its  death  throes. 

"Too  bad  ye  didn't  git  a  chance  to  kiver  him,"  said  the  old 
man,  "but  hit  would  n't  done  to  kill  the  dogs  no  way." 

If  I  had  had  any  idea  of  the  game  being  thus  easily  taken 
from  me,  I  would  have  availed  myself  of  the  minute  before 
Wid's  appearance  by  killing  the  bear,  and  several  dogs  with  him 
if  necessary  to  that  end.  My  companions  were  of  the  same  mind. 
One  by  one  the  hunters  straggled  in.  The  animal  was  skinned 
where  he  lay ;  and  then,  packed  with  hide,  meat,  blankets  and 
our  guns,  we  descended  the  middle  prong  of  the  Pigeon  to  the 
road  through  the  picturesque  valley. 

It  was  fortunate  for  us  that  the  bear  stopped  to  rest  on  the 
middle  prong.  Had  he  continued  on  a  sharp  trot  he  would 
have  escaped  us  ;  for,  when  closely  hounded,  Bruin  travels 


76  In  the  Haunts  of  the  Black  Bear. 

directly  toward  Sam's  Knob,  a  peak  lying  between  the  Rich 
and  Cold  mountains.  It  is  the  most  inaccessible  mountain 
of  the  range,  and  few  persons  have  ever  scaled  its  summit. 
The  wildest  woods  and  laurel,  interlocked  with  thorns  and  briers, 
spring  from  its  precipitous  sides  :  while  the  voices  of  cascades 
and  cataracts  arise  from  its  shadowy  ravines.  It  is  the  safe 
retreat  of  Bruin.  But  what  cannot  be  accomplished  on  this 
mountain  by  rifle  and  hound  is  attempted  by  traps.  The  true 
hunter  is  not  prone  to  pursuing  any  other  than  open  warfare 
against  the  black  bear.  While  the  sale  of  their  hides  and  meat 
nets  him  a  respectable  sum  each  year,  his  chief  incentive  for 
slaying  them  is  his  passionate  love  for  the  chase. 

Two  kinds  of  traps  are  used.  The  common  steel  trap  is 
familiar  to  nearly  every  one.  Its  great  springs  seem  strong 
enough  to  splinter  a  man's  leg.  They  are  carefully  set  on  bear 
trails  in  the  densest  labyrinths,  and  covered  with  leaves  and 
grasses  to  conceal  them  from  the  luckless  "varmint"  that  walks 
that  way.  No  bait  is  required.  On  some  of  the  peaks  there 
is  far  more  danger  to  be  apprehended  by  the  mountain  strag- 
gler from  these  steel  traps  than  from  rattlesnakes.  One  must 
be  careful  how  he  ventures  into  close  paths  through  the  lofty 
mountain  thickets.  However,  the  neighboring  mountaineers 
are  aware  where  these  traps  are  set. 

The  wooden  trap  is  used  in  some  localities.  It  consists  of  a 
wide  half  log,  about  twelve  feet  in  length,  with  level  face  up. 
With  this  log  for  a  bottom,  a  long  box  is  formed  by  using  for 
the  sides  two  similar  half  logs,  fastened  with  flat  sides  facing 
each  other  along  the  edges  of  the  bottom  log.  Into  one  end 
of  this  box  is  pinned  a  heavy  timber  inclined  at  an  angle  over 
the  bed  of  the  box,  and  supported  by  sticks  constructed  like  a 
figure  four,  baited  with  bread  and  honey,  or  meat.  Rocks  are 
fastened  to  its  elevated  end  to  increase  its  weight.  The  bear, 
attracted  by  the  sweet  smell  of  the  honey,  ventures  in,  pulls 


The  "Windirf  Up"  77 

the  figure  four  to  pieces,  and  is  crushed  down  by  the  fallen 
cover.  If  not  killed  he  is  effectually  pinned  until  the  merciless 
trapper  unintentionally  shows  some  mercy  by  ending  his 
struggles. 

As  the  white-haired  Wid  said:  "Traps  is  good  fer  'em  ez 
hunts  rabbits,  an'  rabbit  huntin'  is  good  fer  boys ;  but  fer  me 
gim  me  my  ole  flint-lock  shootin'-iron,  an'  let  a  keen  pack  o' 
lean  hounds  be  hoppin'  on  ahead ;  an'  of  all  sports,  the  master 
sport  is  follerin'  their  music  over  the  mountings,  an'  windin'  up, 
with  bullet  or  sticker,  a  varminous  ole  bar! " 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  NOON-DAY  SUN. 


It  is  one  of  those  numerous  chef-d  'ceuvre  of  creation  which  God  has  scattered  over  the 
earth,  but  which  He  conceals  so  frequently  on  the  summit  of  naked  rocks,  in  the  depth 
of  inaccessible  ravines,  on  the  unapproachable  shores  of  the  ocean,  like  jewels  which  He 
unveils  rarely,  and  that  only  to  simple  beings,  to  children,  to  shepherds,  or  fishermen,  or 
the  devout  worshippers  of  nature. — Lamartine. 

Macon  county,  North  Carolina,  is  a  section  of  country  so 
seldom  visited  by  strangers,  that  few  persons  living  beyond 
its  limits  are  aware  of  its  existence,  except  as  they  find  it 
located  on  the  map.  In  pomp  of  forest,  purity  of  water,  beauty 
of  sky,  wildness  of  mountains,  combining  in  a  wonderful 
wealth  of  sublime  scenery,  the  valley  of  the  Nantihala  river  is 
not  surpassed  by  any  region  of  the  Alleghanies.  While  a 
great  portion  of  Macon  and  of  other  counties  have  had  atten- 
tion occasionally  called  to  them  by  magazine  articles,  and  by  a 
few  novels  with  plots  laid  in  the  familiar  picturesque  sections, 
the  Nantihala  and  the  mountains  mirrored  on  its  surface,  have 
to  this  day  remained  an  unrolled  scroll.  This  is  not  strange, 
from  the  fact  of  the  wild  and  rugged  nature  of  the  mountains, 
its  few  inhabitants,  its  remoteness  from  railroads,  and  the  rough- 
ness of  the  highways  and  trails  by  which  it  is  traversed.  Even 

79 


8o  The  Valley  of  the  Noon- Day  Sun. 

the  ambitious  tourist  who  enters  Western  North  Carolina  with 
the  purpose  of  seeing  all  the  points  of  picturesque  interest, 
finds  his  summer  vacation  at  a  close  before  he  has  completed  a 
tour  of  those  scenic  sections  lying  within  a  radius  of  fifty  miles 
from  Asheville. 

The  musical  name  of  Nantihala,  as  applied  to  the  river,  is 
a  slight  change  from  the  Cherokee  pronunciation  of  it — Nante- 
yaleh.  Judging  from  the  fact  of  different  interpreters  giving 
different  meanings  for  the  name,  its  signification  is  involved  in 
obscurity.  By  some  it  is  said  to  mean  Noon-day  Sun,  from  the 
fact  of  the  mountains  hugging  it  so  closely  that  the  sunlight 
strikes  it  only  during  the  middle  of  the  day.  The  other  mean- 
ing is  Maiden's  Bosom. 

The  river  is  wholly  in  Macon  county.  Rising  near  the  Geor- 
gia boundary,  amid  the  wilds  of  the  Standing  Indian  and 
Chunky  Gal  mountains — peaks  of  its  bordering  eastern  and  west- 
ern ranges — it  flows  in  a  northerly  and  then  north-easterly  direc- 
tion, and  after  a  swift  course  of  fifty  miles,  empties  its  waters 
into  the  Little  Tennessee.  The  ragged,  straggling  range,  slop- 
ing abruptly  up  from  its  eastern  bank,  takes  the  name  of  the 
river.  This  range  breaks  from  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  Georgia,  and 
trends  north,  with  the  Little  Tennessee  receiving  its  waters  on 
one  side,  and  the  Nantihala,  those  on  the  other.  The  Valley 
River  mountains,  forming  the  Macon  county  western  boundary, 
run  parallel  with  the  Nantihala  range.  It  is  in  the  narrow 
cradle  between  these  two  chains  that  the  river  is  forever  rocked. 

Through  most  of  the  distance  from  its  sources  to  where  it 
crosses  the  State  road,  the  river  flows  at  the  feet  of  piny  crags, 
under  vast  forests,  and  down  apparently  inaccessible  slopes.  Its 
upper  waters  teem  with  trout,  and  its  lower,  with  the  gamiest 
fish  of  the  pure  streams  of  level  lands.  The  red,  deer  brouses 
along  its  banks,  and  amid  the  laurel  and  brier  thickets  which, 
shade  its  fountain-heads,  the  black  bear  challenges  the  pursuit 


Sivcct  Woodland  Scenes.  8 1 

of  hounds  and  hunters.  Near  the  State  road  are  gems  of  wood- 
land scenery,  where  all  the  natural  character  of  the  stream — its 
wildness — is  absent ;  and  under  the  soft  sunlight  and  cool 
shadows  of  quiet  woods,  beside  a  swift,  noiseless  stretch  of 
water,  on  which  every  leaf  of  the  red-maple  and  birch  is  mir- 
rored, and  along  which  the  gnarled  roots  of  the  whitened  syca- 
more offer  inviting  seats,  the  stroller  is  vividly  reminded  of 
some  lowland  river,  familiar,  perhaps,  to  his  boyhood.  At 
these  places,  the  basin  is  just  such  a  one  as  you  would  like  to 
plung  headlong  into.  The  grass  is  green  and  lush  along  the 
banks,  and  the  interlacing  hedges,  and  brilliant  vines  drooping 
from  the  over-arching  trees,  would  render  concealment  perfect. 
If  you  are  not  afraid  of  ice-cold  water,  a  swim  here  would  be 
most  enjoyable,  but  even  at  noon  in  July  or  August,  the  tem- 
perature of  the  stream  is  near  the  freezing  point. 

From  the  leaning  beech,  one  can  look  down  into  the  trout's 
glassy  pool,  and  see  him  lying  motionless  in  the  depths,  or 
catch  a  glimpse  of  his  dark  shape  as  he  shoots  over  the  waving 
ferny-mossed  rocks,  and  disappears  under  the  cover  of  the 
bank.  The  king-fisher  is  not  an  unfamiliar  object.  His  sharp 
scream  as  he  flies  low  over  the  waters  will  attract  the  attention 
of  the  observer.  Ungainly  herons  may  be  startled  from  their 
dreaming  along  the  stream  ;  and  flocks  of  plover,  seemingly 
out  of  their  latitude,  at  times  go  wheeling  and  whistling  high 
above  the  woods. 

Monday's  has  a  place  on  the  map.  Why?  It  is  a  cheerful, 
home-like  country  tavern.  Extensive  cleared  lands  stretch 
back  to  the  green  forest  lines.  A  board  fence  fronts  the  neatly- 
kept  lawn,  on  whose  elevated  center  rises  a  two-story  weather- 
beaten  frame  house.  The  steep,  mossy  roof  is  guarded  at  either 
end  by  a  grim,  stone  chimney.  Large  windows  look  out  upon 
a  crooked  road,  and  a  long  porch  with  trellised  railing  is  just 
the  place  to  tip  back  in  a  hard-bottomed  chair,  elevate  your 


The  Valley  of  the  No  on- Day  Sun. 


your 


on 


feet,  and  enjoy  a  quiet  evening  smoke.  The  river  is  out  of  sight 
below  the  hill,  but  at  times  the  music  of  its  rapids  can  be 
distinctly  heard.  The  ranges  of  the  Nantihala  and  Valley 
River  rise  on  either  side  the  valley.  The  only  wagon-ways  to 
this  point  are  across  these  ranges,  from  Franklin  on  the  east 
and  Murphy  on  the  west. 

Franklin,  the  county  seat  of  Macon,  is  situated  in  the  heart 
of  one  of  the  most  fertile  sections  of  the  mountains — the  valley 
of  the  Little  Tennessee.  Its  site  is  on  a  great  hill  on  the  west 
bank  of  the  river.  As  the  traveler,  approaching  from  the  east, 
winds  through  the  lands  lying  along  the  banks  of  the  slow-flow- 
ing stream,  he  will  be  attracted  by  the  broad,  level  farms,  and, 
if  in  summer  or  early  fall,  by  the  wealth  of  the  harvest.  One 
of  the  most  charming  views  of  the  village  and  the  magnificent 
valley  is  on  the  road  coming  from  Highlands.  You  will  halt 

a  summer  evening,  just  as  the 
shadows  have  crept  across  the 
landscape.  The  green  and  yel- 
low fields  will  lie  in  the  fore- 
ground pervaded  with  a  drea- 
my quiet.  Below,  you  see  the 
covered  bridge,  and  the  red 
road,  at  first  hidden  behind  the 
corn,  at  some  distance  beyond, 
climbing  the  hill  and  disap- 
pearing amid  dwellings,  build- 
ings, and  churches  whose  spires 
rise  above  the  cluster.  Far  in 
the  background  looms  the  dark, 
bulky  form  of  the  Warrior 
Bald,  of  the  Nantihalas,  and 
further  to  the  south,  the  long, 
THE  WARRIOR  BALD,  level-topped  continuation  of 


The  Village  of  Franklin.  83 

the  range.  If  old  Sol  is  far  down,  the  bright  green  glow  that 
marks  the  last  moment  of  the  day  will  crown  the  summit  of 
his  sentinel  peak.  A  moment  later  the  stars  are  seen,  and  as 
you  ride  on  and  ascend  the  hill,  the  faint  mists  of  the  river  will 
be  visible,  gathering  as  if  to  veil  the  scene. 

You  are  on  the  village  streets.  A  few  shop  lights  gleam 
across  the  way,  but  there  is  no  bustle  before  any  of  them,  and 
you  will  imagine  that  the  villagers,  careful  of  their  health,  re- 
tire at  sundown.  Some  of  them  certainly  do,  but  it  is  no 
unusual  thing  to  hear  laughter  on  the  hotel  porch  even  as  late 
as  midnight,  and  no  deaths  ov  arrests  chronicled  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  hotel  keeper,  Cunningham,  is  a  queer  character. 
He  is  a  good-natured  landlord,  an  excellent  story-teller,  and 
a  shrewd  horse,  trader.  The  first  two  accomplishments  are 
appreciated  by  travelers.  The  curiosity  about  the  hotel  porch 
is  the  chairs.  They  are  too  high  for  a  short  man  to  get  into 
without  climbing,  and  so  large  that  he  will  feel  lost  in  them. 
At  sight  of  these  great  chairs  ranged  about  the  hotel  door, 
the  traveler  will  imagine  that  he  has  dropped  into  a  colony  of 
giants. 

Franklin  is  a  growing  town.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  of  its 
being  in  the  center  of  a  farming  and  mining  country.  It  is  a 
market  for  grain,  and  in  past  years  for  the  mica  taken  from  sev- 
eral paying  mines  in  the  vicinity.  It  is  71  miles  distant  in  a 
southwest  course  from  Asheville,  and  about  30  miles  from 
Clayton,  the  seat  of  Rabun  county,  Georgia.  A  fine  brick 
court-house  has  lately  been  built  in  the  village  center. 

From  Franklin  the  State  road  toward  the  Nantihalas  leads 
across  hills  and  through  valleys  to  the  Savannah,  whose  mean 
derings  it  follows  under  heavy  foliaged  forests.  The  road  from 
the  eastern  base  of  this  range  across  the  summit  to  the  oppo- 
site base,  winds  through  a  lonely  wilderness.  It  is  the  grand- 
est highway  of  the  mountains.  At  the  commencement  of  the 


84  The  Valley  of  tJic  Noon-Day  Sun. 

ascent  stands  a  primitive  toll-gate,  one  of  the  many  obnoxious 
guardians  to  state  roads.  "A  quarter  will  be  demanded  before 
passage  is  permitted.  The  house  of  the  toll-gate  keeper  is  on 
one  side.  There  is  moss  on  its  roof  and  green  vines  on  its 
front.  The  skeleton  of  a  venerable  saw-mill,  whose  straight, 
perpendicular  saw  is  allowed  to  rust  through  a  great  part  of 
the  time,  stands  on  the  opposite  side  below  a  beaver-like  dam. 
The  sound  of  crashing  waters  continually  breaks  the  silence 
of  the  great  woods. 

The  distance  over  the  mountain  is  12  miles,  and  but  one 
house,  a  log  cabin,  empty  and  forlorn,  almost  hidden  in  a  dark 
cove,  is  to  be  seen.  The  woods  are  as  dense  as  those  of  the 
lowlands,  and  so  well  trimmed  by  nature,  so  fresh  and  green 
are  they,  so  invigorating  the  air  that  circles  through  them,  that 
one,  if  he  ever  felt  like  retiring  to  some  vast  wilderness,  might 
well  wish  his  lodge  to  be  located  here.  All  the  mountains  of 
the  Nantihala  range  are  exceedingly  steep.  To  ascend  this 
one,  the  roacl  winds  back  and  forth  in  zigzag  trails,  so  that  in 
reaching  one  point  near  the  summit,  you  can  clearly  see  three 
parallel  roads  below  you.  The  view  from  the  top  of  the  pass 
is  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  Higher  spurs  of  the  Nantihalas 
shoot  up  in  rugged  magnificence  across  the  gorge  that  falls 
away  from  the  brow  of  the  peak  on  which  the  highway  winds. 
In  spite  of  the  rocky  and  perpendicular  character  of  the  slopes 
of  these  neighboring  peaks,  black  wild  forests  cover  them  from 
bases  to  summits.  Dazzling  white  spots  on  the  front  of  the 
nearest  mountain  show  where  some  enterprising  miner  had 
worked  for  mica.  In  one  direction  there  is  a  valley  view.  It 
is  toward  the  east.  Its  great  depth  renders  one  dizzy  at 
the  prospect.  White  specks  on  yellow  clearings  in  the  green 
basin  mark  the  few  farm  houses.  A  streak  of  silver  winds 
through  it,  vanishing  before  the  eye  strikes  the  bases  of  the 
Cowee  mountains,  which  wall  the  background. 


Picturesque  Solitudes.  8$ 

All  along  the  lofty  pass,  the  road  is  crossed  by  little  spark- 
ling streams  pouring  over  the  mossed  rocks,  under  the  birches 
and  pines.  By  one  of  these  roadside  rivulets  is  an  enchanting 
spot  for  a  noonday  lunch. 

"  Here  twilight  is  and  coolness:  here  is  moss, 
A  soft  seat,  and  a  deep  and  ample  shade. 
Drink,  Pilgrim,  here;  Here  rest !  and  if  thy  heart 
Be  innocent,  here,  too,  shall  thou  refresh 
Thy  spirit,  listening  to  some  gentle  sound, 
Or  passing  gale,  or  hum  of  murmuring  bees ! " 

The  western  slope  is  less  precipitous  than  the  eastern, 
and  after  a  descent  through  an  unbroken  forest,  the  traveler 
arrives  at  Monday's.  The  most  direct  course  to  Charlestown, 
Swain  county,  is  down  the  river;  but  for  the  next  ten  or 
twelve  miles  the  mountains  so  crowd  the  stream  that  no  road  is 
laid.  A  bridle-path  winds  through  the  forbidding  fastnesses, 
occasionally  in  sight  of  the  stream.  From  Brier  Town,  a  scat- 
tered settlement,  the  falls  of  the  river  can  be  reached  by  a  walk 
of  four  miles.  These  falls,  on  account  of  their  inaccessibility, 
are  seldom  visited,  except  by  the  cattle  herder  and  hunter. 
They  pour  over  the  lip  of  a  ragged  cliff  in  a  wild  gorge,  hid- 
den by  lofty  and  precipitous  mountains. 

The  State  road  crosses  the  river  on  a  bridge  just  below  the 
fork  of  the  road  to  Hayesville,  the  county  seat  of  Clay.  A  mill 
and  several  houses  are  clustered  near  the  bridge ;  but  a  moment 
after  passing  them  you  ascend  the  Valley  River  mountains.  It 
is  a  well  graded  road,  through  chestnut  and  oak  woods,  for  five 
miles  to  the  lowest  dip  in  the  mountains.  There  is  no  view  to 
be  had,  except  of  one  wild  valley  that  presents  no  striking  fea- 
tures, but  in  the  utter  loneliness  brooding  over  it.  Down  the 
slope  you  go  through  one  of  the  densest  and  most  luxuriant 
forests  of  the  mountain  region.  It  is  a  tremendous  labyrinth 
of  monarch  hemlocks  and  balsams,  so  heavily  burdened  with 


86  The  Valley  of  the  Noon- Day  Sun. 

foliage  that  their  greenness  approaches  blackness,  and  renders 
the  air  so  cold  that  the  traveler  riding  through  them,  even  in 
the  middle  of  the  morning,  shivers  in  his  saddle.  The  laurel 
grows  to  twice  its  customary  height,  affording  safe  coverts  for 
the  bear  and  wolf.  The  ground  is  black.  A  stream  flows 
along  by  and  in  the  road,  the  only  noisy  occupant  of  the  soli- 
tude visible  and  audible  at  all  times. 

Wild  scenes  appear  as  the  base  of  the  mountain  is  neared. 
As  you  advance  under  the  shadows,  around  the  foot  of  a  steep 
ridge,  bounded  by  a  stream  making  mad  music  over  the  boul- 
ders, suddenly  before  you  will  tower  a  vine-mantled  wall  with 
top  ragged  with  pines,  cleaving  the  blue  sky.  Then,  after  lin- 
gering along  the  foot  of  this  wall,  as  though  loath  to  leave  the 
cool  greenness  of  its  mossed  rocks  and  woods,  the  road  issues 
into  a  small  circle  of  cleared  land,  where  the  ranges,  drawing 
apart  for  a  short  distance,  have  allowed  man  to  secure  a  foot- 
hold. In  most  of  these  confined  dells  it  is,  however,  a  feeble 
foothold ;  due,  principally,  to  the  indolence  of  the  occupant. 
These  homes  are  pictures  of  desolation; — a  miserable  log  cabin 
with  outside  chimney  crumbled  to  one-half  its  original  height, 
and  the  end  of  the  house  blackened  and  charred  from  the  flames 
and  smoke  poured  upward  along  it ;  the  roof  heaped  with 
stones  to  keep  it  in  place ;  the  door  off  its  wooden  hinges ;  the 
barn  an  unroofed  ruin,  and  the  clearing  cultivated  to  the  extent 
of  one  small  patch  of  weed-strangled  corn.  The  family  who 
live  in  such  a  place  will  be  alive,  however,  and  outside  as  you 
go  by.  The  man  on  the  bench  before  the  door  will  shout 
' 'howdy,"  and  continue  smoking  his  pipe  with  as  much  com- 
placency as  if  he  had  a  hundred  acres  of  golden  wheat  within 
his  sight,  a  well  filled  granery,  and  cows  weighing  1,200  instead 
of  500  pounds.  From  four  to  ten  children,  all  about  the  same 
size,  clustered  along  the  fence,  will  excite  wonder  as  to  how 
they  have  lived  so  long. 


The  Prince  of  Sluggards.  87 

Lazy  men  can  be  found  in  all  countries  ;  but  no  lazier  speci- 
men of  humanity  ever  lived  than  one  existing  at  present  near 
the  Tuckasege  in  Jackson  county.  We  heard  of  him  one  night 
at  a  dilapidated  farm-house  of  an  ex-sheriff  of  that  county.  It 
can  better  be  told  in  the  exact  words  of  the  conversation 
through  which  we  learned  of  the  specimen's  existence  ;  but,  in 
order  for  you  to  fully  appreciate  it,  it  will  be  necessary  to  give 
an  idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  house  and  its  surroundings. 
The  farm  of  level  land  was  first  owned  by  an  enterprising 
farmer.  The  house,  a  large,  log  one,  was  built  by  him  40  years 
ago.  It  now  consists  of  a  main  building  of  two  stories,  with  a 
wing  in  the  rear.  It  first  struck  us  that  the  house  had  never 
been  completed  ;  for  on  riding  toward  it  we  found  ourselves 
under  a  long  roof  extending  from  the  main  building.  The  loft 
and  roof  overhead  were  intact,  and  were  supported  by  posts  at  the 
two  corners  out  from  the  house.  It  was  apparently  a  wing  that 
had  never  been  sided  or  floored. 

After  supper  as  we  sat  by  the  moonlight-flooded  window,  on 
inquiring  of  our  host  why  the  large  wing  had  never  been 
finished,  he  answered  : 

''Finished?  Why,  it  war  finished,  but  when  the  old  man 
died,  his  son  and  heir,  one  of  the  no-countist  fellows  what  ever 
lived,  moved  in.  Wai,  ye  see  them  woods,  yander?" 

"Yes." 

"  Not  more  'en  fifty  yard  away." 

"Just  about  that." 

'  Wai,  do  you  know  thet  thet  man  war  too  cussed  lazy  to  go 
to  them  woods  for  fire  wood,  and  so  tore  down  thet  wing,  piece 
by  piece,  flooring,  sidings,  window  sashes,  doors — everything 
but  the  loft  and  roof,  and  he'd  a  took  them  ef  he  hadn't  been 
too  lazy  to  climb  up  stairs." 

"  Wonder  he  didn't  take  the  whole  house." 

"I  spect  he  would  ef  I  hadn't  bought  him  out  when  I  did. 


88  The  Valley  of  t/tc  Noon-Day  Sun. 

Why,  man  !   this  whole   farm-yard  was  an  apple  orchard  then. 
How  many  trees  do  you  see  now  ?  " 

-Three." 

"That's  all.  Chopped  down,  every  damned  one  of 'em,  for 
the  fire-plax:e.  Lazy,  why,  dog  my  skin  ! — " 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"He  lives  in  a  poor  chunk  of  a  cabin  over  in  them  woods, 
close  enough  now  to  fire-wood,  shore." 

Down  further  on  the  Valley  river  the  landscape  grows  more 
open,  and  the  rugged  mountains  become  softened  down  to  un- 
dulating hills,  drawn  far  back  from  the  stream,  and  leaving  be- 
tween them  wide  vales,  rich  in  soil,  generous  in  crops,  and  in 
places  over  three  miles  in  width.  This  is  in  Cherokee,  the  extreme 
southwest  county  of  North  Carolina.  Murphy,  the  county-seat, 
is  a  small,  weather-worn  village,  located  in  nearly  the  center  of 
the  county.  The  Western  North  Carolina  Railroad,  as  pro- 
jected, will,  on  its  way  to  Du'cktown,  soon  intersect  it. 

Just  before  reaching  Valley  river,  the  traveler  will  notice  a 
large,  white  house,  situated  in  a  fine  orchard.  Mrs.  Walker's 
is  known  through  the  western  counties  as  a  place  of  excellent 
accommodation.  At  this  point,  the  road  to  the  lower  valley  of 
the  Nantihala,  turns  abruptly  to  the  right.  It  is  a  rough  way 
through  an  uninviting  country,  thinly  inhabited,  poor  in  farm- 
ing lands,  and  devoid  of  scenery.  After  miles  of  weary  travel, 
the  road  disappears  from  the  sunlight  into  a  deep  ravine.  A 
stream  disputes  passage  with  the  swampy  road,  which  is  fairly 
built  upon  the  springy  roots  of  the  rhododendrons.  It  seems 
to  be  the  bottom  of  some  deep-sunk  basin,  which  at  one  time 
was  the  center  of  a  lake,  whose  waters,  finding  a  way  out,  left 
a  rich  deposit  for  a  luxuriant  forest  to  spring  from.  The  trunks 
of  the  trees  are  covered  with  yellowish-green  moss.  Matted 
walls  of  living  and  dead  rhododendrons  and  kalmias  line  the  way. 
Your  horse  will  stumble  wearily  along,  especially  if  it  is  soon 


A  Swiss  Landscape.  89 

after  a  rain ;  and  if  a  buggy  is  behind  him,  it  will  take  a  good 
reinsman  to  keep  it  from  upsetting  in  the  axle-deep  ruts,  over 
low  stumps  and  half-rotten  logs.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  and 
think  little  of  the  convenience  of  the  place  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  dark  deed.  Soon  it  comes  to  an  end,  and  a  firmer, 
though  rough,  road  leads  into  an  open  forest,  and  gradually  de- 
scends a  narrow  valley  between  prodigiously  high  mountains. 

The  passage  of  Red  Marble  gap  is  now  made,  and  the  valley 
of  the  Nantihala  again  entered  twelve  miles  below  where  the 
State  road  crosses  at  Monday's.  The  first  view  of  it  will  cause 
you  to  rise  in  your  stirrups.  It  is  a  narrow  valley,  with  one 
farm-house  lying  in  the  foreground.  Around  it  rise  massive 
mountain  walls,  perfectly  perpendicular,  veiled  with  woods,  and 
in  height  fully  2,000  feet.  Directly  before  you  is  a  parting  of 
the  tremendous  ranges,  and  through  this  steep-sided  gap,  purple 
lines  of  mountains,  rising  one  behind  another,  bar  the  visionjf 
The  picture  of  these  far-away  ranges,  in  the  subdued  coloring  of 
distance,  is  of  inspiring  grandeur.  The  river  is  unseen  at  this 
point ;  but,  if  the  Cheowah  Mountain  road  is  ascended,  its  white 
line  of  waters  will  be  visible,  as  it  issues  from  the  wild  gorge  at 
the  head  of  the  valley ;  and,  bickering  along  between  wood- 
fringed  banks,  by  the  farm-house,  under  and  out  from  under  the 
birches,  at  length  disappears  in  the  wilderness  leading  toward 
the  great  gap. 

Widow  Nelson  lives  in  the  only  visible  farm-house, — a  low, 
ill-constructed,  frame  dwelling  with  a  log  cabin  in  the  rear,  and 
small  barn  near  by.  It  is  a  hospitable  shelter  or  dinner-place 
for  the  traveler.  On  the  widow's  porch  is  always  seated  a  fat 
old  man  named  Reggies.  He  is  short  in  stature,  has  red,  puffed, 
smooth-shaven  cheeks,  and  appears  like  "a  jolly  old  soul." 
You  will  hear  his  sonorous  voice,  if  you  draw  rein  at  the  fence 
to  make  inquiries  concerning  distances  ;  for  he  is  an  animated, 
universal  guide-post,  and  answers  in  a  set  manner  all  questions. 


go  The  Valley  of  the  Noon-Day  Sun. 

So  few  settlers  live  along  the  Nantihala  that  the  strongest 
friendship  binds  them  together;  and  every  one  considers  all  the 
people  surrounding  him,  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles,  his  neigh- 
bors. The  social  ties  between  the  young  folks  are  kept  warm 
principally  by  the  old-fashioned  " hoe-downs."  During  a 
week's  stay  in  the  valley,  we  improved  an  opportunity  to  attend 
one  of  these  dances.  Satisfactory  arrangements  being  made, 
one  evening  before  dark  we  started  with  Owenby,  a  guide.  A 
branch  road  led  to  our  destination, — a  path,  that,  though  a  faint 
cattle  trail  in  the  beginning,  had  grown,  after  being  traveled  over 
by  the  mountaineers'  oxen  and  their  summer  sleds,  into  a  road. 
As  is  usually  the  case,  it  followed  up  an  impetuous  little  torrent. 
At  a  small,  log  cabin,  where  we  stopped  after  proceeding  a  mile 
on  one  journey,  we  were  joined  by  a  party  of  twenty  young 
men  and  women ;  and  with  this  body  we  began  the  ascent  to 
Sallow's,  where  the  dance  was  to  be  held.  Still  enough  twilight 
remained  for  us  to  find  our  way  without  difficulty.  All  walked 
with  the  exception  of  three  men,  who,  each  with  his  respective 
young  lady  seated  behind  him,  rode  mules,  and  led  the  way. 
After  a  steady  climb  for  several  miles  we  halted  before  the  dim 
outlines  of  another  little  cabin.  The  mounted  ones  dismounted 
and  fastened  their  steeds. 

"  I  reckon  we'll  surprise  'em,  fer  it  'pears  they've  all  gone  to 
roost,"  remarked  Owenby,  as  we  silently  stepped  over  the 
leveled  bars  of  the  fence  into  the  potato  patch  bordering  the 
road.  Not  a  streak  of  light  shone  through  a  crack  of  the  cabin, 
not  a  sound  came  from  the  interior.  One  of  our  party  pushed 
the  puncheon  door,  which  easily  swung  open  with  a  creak  of 
wooden  hinges. 

"Come  to  life  in  hyar !  Up 'an'  out!  Hi,  yi,  Dan  and 
Molly  !  "  he  yelled,  while  following  his  lead  we  all  crowded 
into  the  single  room.  The  fire  had  smouldered  until  only  a 


At  the  " Hoe-Doivn . "  91 

few  coals  remained,  and  those  were  insufficient  to  throw  any- 
light  on  the  scene. 

"Good  Lord!  what  does  this  mean?"  growled,  from  a  dark 
corner,  some  one  who  wras  evidently  proprietor  of  the  premises. 

"  Hit  means  we're  hyar  for  a  dance,  ole  man  ;  so  crawl  out," 
laughingly  returned  our  self-constituted  spokesman. 

"Well,  I  reckon  we're  in  fer  it,"  continued  the  disturbed,  as 
we  heard  a  bed  creak,  and  bare  feet  strike  the  floor.  "Pitch 
some  pine  knots  on  the  fire,  and  face  hit  an'  the  wall  while 
wife  an'  me  gits  our  duds  on." 

A  few  seconds  after,  the  host  and  hostess  were  ready  to 
receive  company,  and  a  blazing  pine  fire  illuminated  a  room  20 
x  25  feet  in  dimensions.  The  beds  were  one  side  and  the  frowsy 
heads  of  eight  children  stuck  with  wondering  faces  out  from  the 
torn  covers.  Two  tables  and  a  few  chairs  were  on  the  middle 
floor,  and  numerous  garments  and  household  articles  hung  on 
the  walls.  The  light  from  the  great,  gaping  fire-place,  in  one 
end  of  the  room,  showed  the  party  off  to  advantage.  The  girls 
were  attired  in  their  best  garments  ;  some  of  light  yellow, 
though  blue  dresses  preponderated.  The  characters  of  most 
interest  to  all  present  were  two  good-natured-looking  young- 
men  dressed  in  "biled"  shirts,  green  neckties,  "store- 
boughten  "  coats,  and  homespun  pantaloons.  With  self-import- 
ant airs  they  accepted  and  immediately  covered  two  chairs 
before  the  blazing  hearth.  One  of  the  twain  had  a  home-made 
banjo  on  his  knee ;  the  other,  a  violin.  The  necessary  scraping 
and  twanging  to  get  the  instruments  in  tune  took  place ;  and 
then  the  older  musician  announced  that  the  ball  was  open. 

"Trot  out  yer  gals,"  said  he;  "There  must  n't  be  enny 
hangin'  back  while  these  'ere  cat-gut  strings  last.  Git  up  an' 
shine!" 

After  some  hesitation  four  couples  stepped  into  the  center  of 
the  floor,  forming  two  sets.  Each  one  separated  from  and 


92  The  Valley  of  tJie  Noon-Day  Sun. 

stood  facing  his  partner.  Then  the  music  struck  up,  and  such 
music!  The  tune  was  one  of  the  liveliest  jigs  imaginable,  and 
the  musicians  sang  as  they  played.  The  dancers  courtesied  and 
then  began  a  singular  dance.  There  was  no  calling  off;  it  was 
simply  a  jig  on  the  part  of  each  performer.  The  girls  danced 
with  arms  akimbo,  reeling  sideways  one  way,  and  then  side- 
ways the  other.  Their  partners,  with  slouched  hats  still  on 
their  heads,  hair  swinging  loosely,  every  muscle  in  motion  and 
all  in  time  with  the  music,  careered  around  in  like  manner. 
The  rest  of  the  party  stood  silent  and  interested  looking  on ; 
and  on  the  whole  scene  blazed  the  pine  knots. 

At  intervals,  parties  of  two,  three,  or  more,  of  the  men 
slipped  out  of  the  door,  then  in  a  few  minutes  returned, 
apparently  refreshed  by  a  draught  of  the  night  air,  or  something 
else.  After  the  finish  of  one  of  the  dances,  in  which  we  stran- 
gers engaged,  a  fierce-mustached  mountaineer  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder,  whispering  as  he  did  so  :  "  Come  outside  a  minnit." 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  hardly  knowing  whether  I  would 
better  follow  or  not;  then  I  stepped  after  him.  As  the  light 
shone  through  the  open  door,  I  saw  that  three  men  were  outside 
with  him.  The  door  shut  behind  me.  It  was  intensely  dark, 
every  star  was  blotted  out,  and  a  damp,  chilly  wind  was  sweeping 
down  the  mountain.  We  walked  a  few  steps  from  the  house. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "   I  asked  in  an  apprehensive  tone. 

No  one  spoke.  I  attempted  to  repeat  the  question,  but  be- 
fore I  could  do  so,  the  man  who  had  invited  me  out,  said:  "  We 
don't  know  your  principles,  but  we  seed  you  'aint  got  the  big- 
head,  an'  like  yer  way  o'  joinin'  in.  We  want  to  do  the  fair 
thing,  an'  no  offence  meant,  we  hope,  whichever  way  you  de- 
cide.  Won't  you  take  a  drink?" 

I  had  feared  some  harm  was  intended,  possibly  for  dancing 
with  the  girl  of  one  of  the  fellows.  I  felt  relieved.  In  the 


By  the  Light  of  Pine  Torches.  93 

darkness  I  felt  a  small  jug  placed  in  my  hands,  and  heard  the 
corn-cob  stopper  being  drawn  from  it. 

For  several  hours  longer  the  dancing  kept  up,  and  so  did  the 
outside  drinking,  the  motions  of  the  drinkers  growing  wilder  as 
they  joined  in  on  the  floor.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  the  musi- 
cians' powers  failed  them.  Preparations  were  made  for  de- 
parture. 

"  Hits  blacker  outside  'en  the  muzzle  o'  my  old  flint-lock,'' 
remarked  Sallow,  as  he  opened  the  creaking  door;  "I  reckon 
ye'd  best  light  some  pine  knots  ter  see  yer  way  down  the 
mounting." 

Each  man  selected  a  knot  from  a  pile  near  the  fire-place; 
lighted  it,  and  with  flaming .  torch  filed  out  into  the  night. 
The  mules  were  mounted,  each  animal  carrying  double,  as 
spoken  of  above  ;  and  then  into  the  dark,  still  forest  we  went. 
The  scene  was  striking.  Those  in  front  were  close  in  one  body, 
the  torches,  wilh  black  smoke  curling  upwards,  being  held  high 
in  air,  rendering  the  carriers  visible,  and  lighting  up  the  woods 
with  a  strange  glare.  The  lights  wavered  and  danced  in  circles, 
as  if  those  who  held  them  were  unsteady  on  their  feet.  Now 
and  then,  one  of  the  boisterous  mountaineers  would  fire  off  his 
pistol,  giving  rise  to  shrill  screams  from  the  fair  sex,  loud  laughs 
from  their  partners,  and  causing  the  mules  to  jump  in  a  manner 
terrifying  to  their  riders.  However,  no  accidents  occurred,  and 
journeying  on,  we  soon  reached  our  temporary  quarters,  well 
satisfied  with  the  night's  experience. 

On  this  occasion  the  hilarity  of  a  number  of  the  party  proved 
damaging  to  them.  Some  one  gave  in  evidence  of  their  carry- 
ing concealed  weapons-  and,  soon  after,  several  arrests  were 
made  and  convictions  followed.  The  law  against  carrying  con- 
cealed weapons  is  stringently  enforced  in  the  mountain  section 
of  the  State,  and  with  good  results. 

Shooting  matches  are  frequent,  in  the  valley  of  the   western 


94  The  Valley  of  the  Noon-Day  Sun. 

section.  The  prize  is  generally  a  beef.  The  time  is  in  Octo- 
ber, when  the  cattle,  in  sleek  condition,  are  driven  down  from 
the  mountain  summits.  Notice  of  the  proposed  match  is  com- 
municated to  the  settlers ;  and,  on  the  stated  day,  the  adepts  in 
the  use  of  shooting-irons,  assemble,  with  their  cap  and  flint- 
lock rifles,  at  the  place  of  contest.  The  gray-haired,  rheumatic, 
old  settler,  with  bear  scratches,  will  'be  there.  His  eyes  are 
as  sharp  as  ever,  and  the  younger  men,  who  have  never  shot  at 
anything  larger  than  a  wild-cat  or  turkey,  must  draw  fine  beads 
if  they  excel  him.  Every  beef  makes  five  prizes.  The  hind 
quarters  form  two  ;  the  fore  quarters  the  next  two ;  and  the 
hide  and  tallow  the  last  choice.  Sometimes  there  is  a  sixth 
prize,  consisting  of  the  privilege  of  cutting  out  the  lead  shot  by 
the  contestants  into  the  tree  forming  the  back-ground  for  the 
target.  The  value  of  a  beef  is  divided  into  shilling  shares, 
which  are  sold  to  purchasers  and  then  shot  .off.  The  best  shots 
take  first  choice,  and  so  on.  Three  judges  preside. 

It  is  an  interesting  sight  to  watch  the  proceedings  of  a  shoot- 
ing-match. If  it  is  to  be  in  the  afternoon,  the  long  open  space 
beside  the  creek,  and  within  the  circle  of  chestnut  trees,  where 
the  shooting  is  to  be  done,  is  empty;  but,  just  as  the  shadow  of 
the  sun  is  shortest,  they  begin  to  assemble.  Some  of  them 
come  on  foot ;  others  in  wagons,  or,  as  is  most  generally  the 
case,  on  horseback  galloping  along  through  the  woods.  The 
long-haired  denizen  of  the  hidden  mountain  cove  drops  in,  with 
his  dog  at  his  heels.  The  young  blacksmith,  in  his  sooty  shirt- 
sleeves, walks  over  from  his  way-side  forge.  The  urchins  who, 
with  their  fish-rods,  haunt  the  banks  of  the  brook,  are  gathered 
in  as  great  force  as  their  l<  daddies  "  and  elder  brothers. 

A  unique  character,  who  frequently  mingles  with  the  crowd, 
is  the  "  nat'ral-born  hoss-swopper. "  He  has  a  keen  eye  to  see 
at  a  glance  the  defects  and  perfections  of  horse  or  mule  (in  his 
own  opinion),  and  always  carries  the  air  of  a  man  who  feels  a 


Striking  a  Bargain.  95 

sort  of  superiority  over  his  fellow  men.  At  a  prancing  gait,  he 
rides  the  result  of  his  last  sharp  bargain,  into  the  group,  and 
keeps  his  saddle,  with  the  neck  of  his  horse  well  arched,  by 
means  of  the  curb-bit,  until  another  mountaineer,  with  like 
trading  propensities,  strides  up  to  him,  and  claps  his  hand  on 
the  horse's  mane,  exclaiming: 

"What  spavined  critter  ye  got  a-straddle  ov  to-day,  Bill?" 

"He  aint  got  nary  blemish  on  'im,  you  old  cross-eyed  sin- 
ner! " 

"Bill,  thet  hoss  looks  ez  tho'  he  hed  the  sweeney,  wunct?" 
remarks  a  looker-on. 

"Hits  an  infernal  lie!"  returns  Bill,  emphatically. 

"Yas, "begins  a  cadaverous-cheeked,  long-drawn-out  deni- 
zen from  over  the  mountain,  who  has  circled  clear  around  the 
animal  and  his  rider:  "He's  the  very  hoss-brute  ez  hed  it. 
Tuk  hit  when  they  wuz  drivin'  'im  in  Toe  Eldridge's  sorghum 
mill." 

The  rider,  meanwhile,  begins  to  look  discouraged. 

"  He  kicked  Tom  Malley  powerful  bad,  ef  thet's  the  animal 
Tom  uster  own,"  chimes  in  another  observer. 

"  Mebby  you  thinks  this  hoss  needs  buryin',"  remarks  Bill, 
sarcastically;  "He'll  hev  more  life  in  'im  twenty  ye'r  from  now 
than  airy  o'  you'uns  hev  ter-day." 

"  Ef  he  aint  blind  on  his  off  side  ye  kin  ride  over  me,"  says 
one  critic,  turning  the  horse's  head  around,  and  then  dropping 
the  bridle  as  Bill  reaches  over  to  strike  him. 

"  He's  a  good  'un  on  the  go,  tho'  ;  "  and  at  this  bland  remark 
of  a  friendly  farmer,  Bill  begins  to  revive. 

"You're  right,"  exclaims  the  rider. 

"Is  thet  so!"  thunders  a  heavy-set  fellow,  following  his 
utterance  by  clasping  Bill  around  the  waist  and  hauling  him  off 
the  steed,  which  proves  to  be  old  enough  to  stand  still  without 
demurring. 


96  The  Valley  of  the  Noon-Day  Sun. 

"I  reckon  I'll  try  him  myself,  Bill,"  he  says,  as  he  thrusts 
one  foot  into  the  stirrup,  and  throws  a  long  leg  over  the  saddle, 
"  and  ef  he's  got  a  fa'r  gait  I  mought  gin  ye  a  swap.  Look  at 
yan  mule,  while  I  ride  him  sorter  peert  for  a  few  rod." 

An  examination  on  the  part  of  both  swappers  always  results 
in  a  trade,  boot  being  frequently  given.  A  chance  to  make  a 
change  in  horseflesh  is  never  let  slip  by  a  natural-born  trader. 
The  life  of  his  business  consists  in  quick  and  frequent  bargains ; 
and  at  the  end  of  a  busy  month  he  is  either  mounted  on  a  good 
saddle  horse,  or  is  reduced  to  an  old  rack,  blind  and  lame.  The 
result  will  be  due  to  the  shrewdness  or  dullness  of  the  men  he 
dealt  with,  or  the  unexpected  sickness  on  his  hands  of  what  was 
considered  a  sound  animal. 

One  or  more  of  the  numerous  candidates  (Democratic,  Re- 
publican, Independent,  or  otherwise)  for  county  or  state  honors 
will  likely  descend  on  the  green  before  the  sport  is  over.  He 
will  shake  hands  with  every  full-fledged  voter  present, — shaking 
with  his  own  peculiar  grip,  which  one,  with  some  plausibility, 
might  be  misled  into  believing  meant  "God  bless  you,"  instead 
of  "  Be  at  the  November  polls  for  me — and  liberty."  Most  of 
the  men  understand  the  soft  solder  of  the  fawning  politician, 
and  exchange  winks  with  one  another,  as  in  succession  each  one 
is  button-holed  by  the  aspirant. 

It  is  generally  an  orderly  crowd,  and  arrangements  are  soon 
made  for  the  first  shot.  At  sixty  yards  from  the  white  piece 
of  black-centered  paper,  the  shooter  lays  himself  flat  on  the 
ground ;  and,  with  his  rifle  (covered  with  a  long  tin  shade  to 
keep  out  the  glaring  sunlight)  resting  over  a  rail,  he  takes  de- 
liberate aim  and  pulls  the  trigger.  A  center  shot  meets  with 
applause.  Thus  the  day  goes  by,  until  every  share  has  been 
blazed  away,  the  beef  is  butchered  and  divided,  and  the  lucky 
marksmen  stagger  homeward,  each  with  his  quarter  in  a  sack 
on  one  shoulder  and  his  rifle  on  the  other.  If  daylight  still 


In  the  Cradle  of  the  Nantihala.  97 

remains,  some  of  the  crowd  often  engage  in  a  squirrel  hunt.  It 
is  no  trouble  to  kill  gray  squirrels  in  any  of  the  woods.  The 
crack  marksman  with  a  rifle  generally  barks  his  squirrel.  Bark- 
ing a  squirrel  is  one  of  the  fine  arts.  The  hunter  takes  aim  and 
fires  at  the  upper  edge  of  the  limb  on  which  the  squirrel  sits, 
instantly  killing  him  from  concussion  created  by  the  splintered 
bark. 

But  let  us  pursue  the  river  from  the  Cheowah  mountain  to 
the  Little  Tennessee.  It  is  a  distance  of  twelve  miles,  and  not 
once  do  the  road  and  stream  part  company.  At  Widow  Nel- 
son's it  is  a  white  winding-sheet  of  rapids,  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach.  A  hundred  yards  by  the  house,  and  the  mountains 
draw  themselves  together  again.  The  road  straggles  around  the 
foot  of  a  cliff.  The  waters  roar  and  splash  beside  it.  Over- 
head, the  foliage  is  of  a  brilliant  green,  and  the  sky  usually  a 
transparent  blue.  By  the  dilapidated  dwelling  of  Widow  Jarett 
you  soon  pass.  There  is  a  cleared  tract  of  land  here.  Across 
the  river,  with  its  foot  in  the  water,  one  of  the  Nantihala  range 
towers  2,000  feet  above  the  valley.  You  must  lean  back  to 
look  upward  along  its  green  face  and  see  the  edge  of  the  sum- 
mit. Up  one  steep  ravine  is  a  trail  leading  to  Brier  Town.  It 
is  termed  the  Cat's  Stairs.  Your  mule  must  be  dragged  by  the 
bridle  if  you  attempt  the  ascent. 

Three  miles  down  the  stream,  as  you  issue  from  the  forest  on 
the  brow  of  a  gentle  declivity,  a  wild  picture  lies  spread  before 
the  eyes.  You  are  looking  across  a  long  pent-in  vale.  On  one 
side  the  Anderson  Roughs,  lofty  and  impending,  with  steep 
ridges,  one  behind  the  other,  descending  to  the  river,  reach 
away  to  where  the  blue  sky  dips  in  between  them  and  the  last 
visible  perpendicular  wall  that  frowns  along  the  valley's  opposite 
border.  The  wildness  of  the  scene  is  heightened  instead  of 
softened  by  the  vision  of  Campbell's  lowly  cabin  in  the  center 
of  the  narrow  corn-fields.  You  see  the  smoke  above  its  black- 


98  The  Valley  of  tlic  Noon- Day  Sim. 

ened  roof;  several  uncombed  children  tumbling  in  the  sunshine  ; 
the  rail  fence  close  by  its  frail  porch  ;  and,  beyond  it,  the  limpid 
Nantihala,  smooth  and  turbulent  alternately,  and  filling  the  ears 
with  its  loud  monotone.  (See  Frontispiece.) 

"Buck"  Campbell  is  a  whole-souled  fellow;  his  wife,  a  pleas- 
ant woman.  If  you  have  time,  stop  here.  Excepting  the 
good-natured  bearing  of  the  mountaineer  and  his  wife,  you  will 
see  nothing  inviting  about  the  place,  until  the  table  is  set  for 
supper,  out  in  the  open  air,  at  one  end  of  the  cabin.  The  meal 
will  be  an  appetizing  one.  Between  each  bite  you  take  of  a 
smoking  piece  of  corn-dodger,  you  can  look  up  at  the  shadowed 
front  of  the  Anderson  Roughs  (for  long  since  the  western  wall 
has  intercepted  the  sunlight  from  pouring  on  it),  and  watch  how 
the  shadows  thicken,  while  still  the  sky  is  bright  and  clear 
above.  The  signification  of  noon-day  sun,  as  applied  to  the 
river,  will  strike  you  forcibly.  Late  in  the  morning  and  early 
in  the  evening  the  valley  is  in  shade.  There  is  but  one  room  in 
the  cabin,  consequently  you  will  all  sleep  together,  and  awake 
in  the  morning  feeling  that  there  is  something  in  the  humblest 
path  of  life  to  keep  a  man  happy. 

Every  morning,  except  in  winter,  a  heavy  fog  fills  the  valley. 
This  is  unfavorable  for  the  cultivation  of  small  grain,  conse- 
quently corn  is  the  only  profitable  production  on  the  Nantihala. 
Issuing  from  the  cabin,  you  jump  the  fence  and  go  to  the  river 
to  perform  your  ablutions.  A  tin  basin  is  not  one  of  Camp- 
bell's possessions.  You  are  sure  of  clean . water,  however;  and, 
leaning  over  the  river's  bosom,  you  have  something  to  act  as  a 
mirror,  while  you  comb  your  hair  with  your  fingers.  If  you 
yell  for  it,  a  towel  will  be  brought  by  one  of  a  pair  of  black- 
eyed  youngsters,  fondly  called  •' Dutch"  and  "Curly"  by  their 
father.  Campbell  says  he  believes  in  nicknaming  his  children; 
for  he  does  not  see  why  they  should  go  by  their  proper  names 


Lightning  in  Clear  Skies.  99 

any  more  than  people  should  call  him  "Buck,"  instead  of  Alex- 
ander. 

By  9  o'clock  the  mist  has  rolled  itself  in  clouds  and  drifted 
up  the  heights,  a  belt  of  sunshine  is  half  way  down  the  moun- 
tain on  the  west,  and  day  has  fairly  dawned.  If  it  is  in  the 
early  fall,  the  drum  of  the  pheasant  may  be  heard  from  the 
near  woods.  The  quail  has  ceased  his  piping  for  the  season, 
but  he  has  by  no  means  migrated,  as  one  might  infer  from  his 
silence ;  for  if  you  stroll  through  the  fields,  great  bevies  will  fre- 
quently rise  from  your  feet  and  start  in  all  directions  with  such 
a  whirr  of  wings  that  you  will  jump  in  spite  of  yourself.  I 
have  started  wood-cock  in  the  wet  tangles  of  the  mountain 
streams,  but  they  are  rare  birds., 

Only  two  houses  are  between  Campbell's  and  the  mouth  of 
the  river,  ten  miles  below.  This  sort  of  a  solitude  is  not  infre- 
quent on  a  highway  across  a  mountain  range,  but  the  like  is 
seldom  seen  along  a  river.  Rich  forests  are  entered  just  below 
Campbell's.  The  trees  grow  to  an  unusual  height.  With  un- 
derbrush they  cover  all  the  landscape,  except  the  few  cliffs  on 
the  summits  of  the  peaks,  and  at  the  water's  edge.  The  variety 
is  something  remarkable.  I  counted  twenty-three  distinct  spe- 
cies of  timber  in  one  woodland.  The  road,  at  times,  winds 
around  the  mountain  100  yards  above  the  river.  It  sparkles 
directly  below  through  the  trees.  Across  the  gorge  the  Nanti- 
halas  lift  their  shaggy  heads,  at  some  points,  like  that  of  the 
Devil's  chin,  exposing  bare  rocks  above  the  clambering  forests. 
Storms  through  this  section  are  fierce,  but  of  short  duration. 
With  the  wind  bearing  down  the  river,  a  flash  of  lightning  in 
the  clear,  narrow  strip,  of  sky  will  be  the  first  premonitor  of 
the  storm.  Then  a  black  shroud  will  drift  over  half  the  strip  ; 
and  with  it  comes,  along  between  the  valley's  green  walls,  thin 
clouds  like  smoke  that  fling  themselves  upon  the  piny  spurs  of 
the  mountains,  hiding  them  from  view.  Immediately  you  hear 


ioo  The  Valley  of  the  Noon- Day  Sun. 

the  rain  drops  pattering  through  the  leaves,  and  the  trees  sway- 
ing beneath  a  blast  that  soon  carries  off  the  rack.  Frequently 
not  a  drop  of  rain  will  touch  you,  while  close  by,  the  moun- 
tain steeps  are  drenched.,  The  waters  of  the  river  grow  deeper, 
roar  louder,  and  a  few  minutes  after  the  last  rain  drop  fell,  a 
sullen  flood  is  sweeping  between  the  banks.  It  is  strange  in 
how  short  a  time  a  flood  is  created  in  a  mountain  valley,  and 
how  soon  it  wears  itself  away.  At  your  stand  far  down  the 
valley,  you  may  not  even  know  that  a  storm  has  been  visiting 
the  sources  of  the  stream,  for  the  black  clouds  rolled  over  the 
summits  of  the  lofty  mountains  have  escaped  your  observation. 
But  a  few  minutes  elapse,  and  the  fords  are  impassible.  Wait 
patiently,  however,  and  you  can  see  the  waters  subside  and  the 
landmarks  appear  as  before. 

Between  Campbell's  and  the  next  farm  there  is  an  exposed 
vein  of  soap-stone.  From  all  indications  it  is  inexhaustible, 
but  at  present  it  is  unworked.  Wherever  cliffs  are  exposed, 
huge  marble  slabs,  white  and  variegated,  extend  into  the  river. 
Where  these  slabs  cross  the  road,  their  angular  corners  make  a 
road-bed  of  the  roughest  character.  At  every  road-working 
the  gaps  between  the  rocks  are  filled  up,  but  the  next  freshet 
carries  away  the  filling.  It  is  not  advisable  to  attempt  a  journey 
over  it,  except  on  horseback  or  a-foot.  The  Western  North 
Carolina  railroad  will  occupy  the  larger  portion  of  this  road. 
The  question  is,  Where  will  they  lay,  for  the  mountaineers,  a 
road  in  place  of  the  one  they  have  taken  ?  The  requirements 
of  the  statute  will  not  be  complied  with,  unless  a  miracle  is 
performed. 

Miller's  is  frame  house  that,  from  the  fact  of  loose  clapboards 
hanging  to  it,  looks  well  Ventilated.  If  it  was  ever  painted, 
there  is  no  evidence  to  show  it ;  for  the  sides  are  as  dingy  as 
twenty  years  could  make  them.  A  two-story  porch  is  in  front, 
and  before  that  a  treeless,  grassless  yard.  Miller  looks  like 


A  Discomfited  Forager.  IOI 

Rip  Van  Winkle.  The  last  time  we  passed,  he  was  dairying  an 
armful  of  fodder  to  some  starved-looking  cows.  It  was  2 
o'clock,  and  we  had  had  no  dinner.  On  inquiring  whether  our 
wants  could  be  satisfied,  he  directed  us  to  his  "  old  woman." 

One  of  our  number  unfastened  the  rickety  gate,  and  walked 
towards  the  house.  A  vicious  dog  came  forth  with  loud  bark- 
ing from  a  hole  under  the  porch,  where  he  had  been  premeditat- 
ing an  onslaught.  The  sight  of  a  stone  in  the  hand  of  the  new- 
comer caused  him  to  defer  operations  until  a  more  convenient 
season. 

"Can  we  get  something  to  eat  here?"  was  asked  of  the 
woman  who  had  appeared  to  call  the  dog  under  shelter. 

"I'll  see,"  she  said,  and  turned  to  go  in. 

A  line  of  bee  gums  on  the  sagging  upper  porch  had  already 
been  observed  by  our  forager,  and  consequently  he  was  not 
taken  by  surprise  when  a  swarm  of  bees  alighted  on  his  head 
and  shoulders.  Nevertheless,  he  was  discomforted,  and  without 
waiting  for  the  returns  he  struck  in  a  straight  line  for  the  fence. 
The  dog,  with  considerable  alacrity,  followed  suit,  and  succeeded 
in  securing  a  nip  as  he  scaled  the  rails.  The  bees  reached  us  all 
just  at  that  time,  and  turning  up  the  collars  of  our  flannel 
shirts,  we  started  our  horses  up  the  road  like  racers  bearing" 
down  on  the  winning  pole.  This  was  our  only  attempt  to  call 
at  Miller's. 

The  scenery  for  the  next  four  miles  is  a  series  in  close  suc- 
cession of  views  wilder  than  any  on  the  French  Broad.  There 
is  nothing  like  it  elsewhere  in  the  Alleghanies.  The  valley 
between  the  mountains,  through  which  the  Nantihala  pours,  is 
much  deeper  than  that  of  any  other  mountain  river.  The  only 
passage-way  that  equals  it  in  narrowness  alone  is  the  canon  of 
Linville  river,  lying  below  the  falls,  and  between  the  craggy 
steeps  of  Jonas  Ridge  and  Linville  mountains.  At  the  most 
picturesque  points  the  waters  sweep  in  thundering  rapids  over 


102 


The  Valley  of  tJic  Noon- Day  Sun. 


great  marble  ledges.  The  road  is  stone- 
paved  at  the  feet  of  broken-fronted  cliffs, 
dripping  with  icy  water,  green  with  mosses, 
or  brown  in  nakedness  of  rock.  Across 
the  narrow  channel,  brilliant  leafed  birches 
lean  over  the  agitated  current.  At  the 
margin  of  the  stream  the  slope  of  the  oppo- 
site mountains  begins,  which,  with  impend- 
ing forests  on  their  precipitous  fronts,  lift 
themselves  to  dizzy  altitudes.  At  times 
whimpering  hawks,  circling  above  the  crags, 
may  be  heard  and  seen  ;  but  rarely  will 
any  other  evidences  of  life  be  manifest. 
In  two  places  abandoned  clearings  lie  by 
the  road.  They  are  over-run  with  wild 
blackberry  bushes  and  clumps  of  young 
A  NARROW  WATER-WAY  forest  trees  jwo  roofless  cabins  are  in 

their  centers  ;  and  a  few  apple  trees  rise  above  the  rank  growth 
of  briers.  From  appearances,  one  would  judge  it  to  be  a  score 
of  years  since  last  a  barking  dog  raced  back  and  forth  behind 
the  scattered  fence  rails  concealed  by  the  thickets  ;  or  its  own- 
er, from  the  entrance  to  the  cabin,  saluted  the  passing  traveler. 

About  one  mile  below  Miller's  is  a  spot  eminently  character- 
istic of  the  Nantihala's  scenery.  The  valley  has  narrowed  to  a 
canon.  The  road  runs  through  a  dense  wood.  Not  a  rock  is 
exposed  under  the  trees,  or  on  the  perpendicular  faces  of  the 
mountains.  You  seem  to  be  in  a  great,  deep  well.  Only  a 
small  circle  of  sky  is  visible. 

In  the  course  of  its  windings,  the  road  at  length  is  crowded 
into  the  river  and  fording  is  necessary.  There  is  no  danger, 
unless  the  water  is  high  from  a  freshet ;  and  there  is  nothing  to 
dread  in  the  passage,  unless  you  are  on  foot.  In  the  latter  case 
you  must  wade.  The  water  is  too  deep  for  rolling  up  your 


An  Antlcrcd  Monarch  and  His  Mates.  103 

pantaloons,  but  your  upper  garments  may  be  kept  on  and  dry, 
unless  the  swift  current  and  slippery  rocks  conspire  to  give  you 
a  gentle  ducking.  The  river  is  quite  wide  at  this  only  ford  on 
the  valley  road.  From  mid-stream  a  long  stretch  of  river  is 
visible.  Usually  a  shimmer  of  sunlight  lies  on  the  the  ripples 
down  its  center,  while  cool  shadows  darken  its  surface  by  the 
banks.  The  green  trees  lean  lovingly  over  it,  and  a  soft  breeze, 
as  constant  in  its  blowing  as  the  flowing  of  the  water,  will  fan 
your  face.  A  fascinating  solitariness  pervades  the  picture;  and 
this  was  enhanced,  when  we  saw  it,  by  a  group  of  three  deer, 
a  buck  and  two  does,  which,  with  the  antlered  monarch  in  the 
lead,  had  just  left  the  forest  and  were  standing  knee-deep  in  the 
icy  water  at  some  distance  from  our  point  of  observation.  A 
moment  they  stood  there  with  erected  heads  looking  toward 
us;  and  then,  with  quick  movements,  regained  the  nearest  bank 
and  disappeared  into  the  wild  wood. 

If  the  traveler  is  observant,  he  will  notice,  soon  after  passing 
the  ford,  a  long  dug-out  fastened  to  the  bank  at  the  end  of  a 
beaten  path  ;  and  between  the  trees  see  a  lonely  cabin  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river.  The  dug-out  and  a  slippery  ford 
near  by,  are  the  only  links  connecting  the  cabin's  occupants 
with  a  road.  The  spot  appears  too  isolated  to  be  either  pleas- 
ant or  romantic.  One  of  the  many  fish  traps  seen  in  all  the 
mountain  rivers  is  near  this  cabin.  It  is  built,  like  they  all  are, 
in  a  shallow  reach  of  the  river.  It  consists  of  a  low  V  shaped 
dam,  constructed  of  either  logs  or  rocks,  with  angle  pointing 
down  stream.  The  volume  of  the  water  pours  through  the 
angle  where  is  arranged,  a  series  of  slats,  with  openings  between, 
large  enough  to  admit  the  passage  of  a  fish  into  a  box  set 
below  for  its  receptacle.  Every  day  its  owner  paddles  his 
canoe  out  to  the  angle  of  the  dam,  and  empties  the  contents  of 
the  box  into  the  boat.  This  method  of  fishing  is  unsportsman- 
like, to  say  the  least. 


IO4  The  Valley  of  the  Noon- Day  Sun. 

Near  the  head  of  one  of  the  islands  of  the  Nantihala,  the 
road  from  over  Stecoah  mountain  appears  on  the  opposite  bank, 
and  by  a  wide  ford  reaches  the  main  road.  By  the  Stecoah 
mountain  highway,  it  is  twenty  miles  to  Robbinsville  in  the 
center  of  Graham  county.  There  are  no  scenes  of  striking 
grandeur  along  the  route,  but  the  traveler  will  be  interested  in 
way-side  pictures.  A  primitive  "corncracker "  at  one  point 
is  likely  to  produce  a  lasting  impression.  It  is  a  tall,  frail 
structure  with  gaps  a  foot  wide  between  every  two  logs. 
Through  these  cracks  can  be  seen  the  hopper,  and  the  stones 
working  at  their  daily  bushel  of  grain,  deposited  therein  at 
dawn  by  the  miller,  and  left,  without  watching,  to  be  converted 
into  meal  by  his  return.  One  would  conceive  that  other  mills 
than  the  gods'  grind  slowly.  It  is  a  small  volume  of  water 
that  pours  through  the  flume,  by  means  of  a  race, — a  long, 
small  trough,  made  of  boards,  rotten  and  moss-grown,  and 
elevated  on  log  foundations,  about  ten  feet  above  the  ground. 
Reaching  back  toward  the  wooded  hill-side,  fifty  yards  away, 
it  receives  the  waters  of  a  mountain  stream.  I  have  seen 
mills  in  the  mountains,  forming  with  roof,  hopper,  and  all,  a 
structure  no  larger  than  a  hackney  coach. 

Along  the  road  to  Robbinsville,  for  fifteen  miles,  the  pre- 
dominating family  is  Crisp.  It  is  Crisp  who  lives  in  the  valley, 
on  the  mountain  side,  in  the  woods,  by  the  mill,  on  the  bank 
of  Yellow  creek,  and  in  numerous  unseen  cabins  up  the  coves. 
In  fact  Crisp  seems  ubiquitous.  Robbinsville  has  eight  or  ten 
houses,  one  of  which  serves  for  a  hotel;  a  store;  a  court- 
house, church,  and  school-house.  Near  it  flows  Cheowah 
creek,  through  fertile  valleys.  The  finest  tract  of  land  in  the 
county  is  owned  by  General  Smythe,  of  Newark,  Ohio,  and  is 
called  the  Junaluska  farm.  It  is  situated  near  the  village,  on 
the  banks  of  Long  creek,  and  consists  of  1,500  acres,  400  or 


Into  the  Little  Tennessee.  105 

500  acres  of  which  are  cleared  valley   land  of  rich,   loamy  soil. 
In  this  locality  a  number  of  Indian  families  own  homes. 

After  this  slight  digression,  let  us  turn  to  the  Nantihala.  A 
short  distance  from  the  Stecoah  highway  ford,  the  river  empties 
into  the  Little  Tennessee.  Just  before  reaching  that  point,  the 
road  diverges  from  beside  the  crystal  current ;  the  valley  widens 
out;  a  deeper  roar  of  mightier  waters  arises;  and,  soon  after, 
having  reached  the  bank  of  the  Little  Tennessee,  you  enter  its 
ford,  and,  turning  in  the  saddle,  take  a  parting  look  at  the  close- 
ly parallel  mountain  ranges,  and  the  narrow  space  between 
them,  known  as  the  valley  of  the  Noon-day  Sun. 


WITH  ROD  AND  LINE. 


Blest  silent  groves,  O,  may  you  be, 
Forever,  mirth's  best  nursery  ! 

May  pure  contents 

Forever  pitch  their  tents 

Upon  these  downs,  these  meads,  these  rocks,  these  mountains  ! 
And  peace  still  slumber  by  these  purling  fountain^, 

Which  we  may  every  year 

Meet,  when  we  come  a-fishing  here. 

— Str  Henry  Wotton. 

STREAMS,  from  which  the  angler  can  soon  fiL  his  basket 
with  trout,  are  not  wanting  in  these  mountains.  It  is  the 
cold,  pure  waters,  that  spring  from  the  perpetual  fountains  of 
the  heights,  that  this  royal  fish  inhabits.  Show  me  a  swift  and 
amber-colored  stream,  babbling  down  the  mountain  slope  under 
dense,  luxurious  forests,  and,  between  laureled  banks,  issuing  with 
rapids  and  cascades  into  a  primitive  valley,  and  I  will  insure  that 
in  it  swims,  in  countless  numbers,  the  prized  fish  of  the  angler. 
You  or  I  may  not  be  able  to  demonstrate  this  assertion  ;  but  the 
urchin  with  smiling  face,  yellow  hair,  torn  shirt,  suspenderless 
pantaloons,  bare  feet,  and  legs  nude  to  his  knees — this  untaught 
boy,  who  lives  in  yonder  homely  hut  amid  the  chestnut  trees — 

107 


io8  With  Rod  and  Line. 

will  soon  convince  you  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  and  besides, 
give  you  a  few  points,  impossible  to  secure  from  piscatorial 
books,  on  how  to  catch  the  trout.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
the  angler  will  meet  with  success  at  every  point  on  one  of  these 
streams  ;  for  along  its  lower  stretches,  as  the  primeval  character 
of  the  valley  vanishes,  as  the  water  grows  warmer  under  fre- 
quent floods  of  sunshine,  and,  losing  its  resinous  color,  flows 
with  glassy  surface  between  more  open  banks,  the  sport  be- 
comes less  captivating,  until  only  the  chub  and  shiner  rise  to 
the  fly. 

The  best  trout-fishing,  like  the  best  hunting,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  wildest  sections.  The  advance  of  civilization  lessens  the 
sport  as  rapidly  as  it  thins  the  herds  of  deer  along  the  wooded 
margins  of  the  streams.  Whether  it  be  the  disturbance  of  the 
waters  by  the  line  of  active  saw-mills,  that  with  each  year 
reaches  deeper  into  the  mountain  solitudes,  and  the  receding 
of  the  forests  beneath  the  woodman's  axe  ;  or  the  advent  of 
the  barefoot  angler,  that  effects  this  change,  makes  no  difference 
with  my  statement ;  for  it  is  advancing  civilization  that  brings 
them  both. 

But  few  persons  are  unfamiliar  with  the  trout.  What  they 
have  not  learned  from  actual  experience  concerning  its  habits  and 
appearance,  has  been  obtained  from  books.  The  trout  has  been 
a  standing  theme  for  poets,  and  more  has  been  written  about  it 
than  any  other  fish.  That  honest  and  enthusiastic  old  angler, 
Isaak  Walton,  thus  sums  up,  in  a  few  words,  his  nature  and 
habits : 

"  The  trout  is  a  fish  highly  valued  in  this  and  foreign  nations.  He  may  be  justly  said, 
as  the  old  poet  said  of  wine,  and  we  English  say  of  venison,  to  be  a  generous  fish  :  a  fish 
that  is  so  like  the  buck,  that  he  also  has  his  seasons  ;  for  it  is  observed  that  he  comes  in 
and  goes  out  of  season  with  the  stag  and  buck.  Gesner  says  his  name  is  of  German  off- 
spring, and  says  he  is  a  fish  that  feeds  clean  and  purely,  in  the  swiftest  streams,  and  on 
the  hardest  gravel  ;  and  that  he  may  justly  contend  with  all  fresh-water  fish,  as  the  mullet 
may  with  all  sea-fish,  for  precedency  and  daintiness  of  taste,  and  that,  being  in  right 
season,  the  most  dainty  palates  have  allowed  precedency  to  him." 


Twenty-seven  at  a  McaL  109 

The  brook  trout  of  the  North  Carolina  mountains  seldom 
exceeds  a  foot  in  length,  and  weighs  from  a  few  ounces  to  three- 
quarters  of  a  pound.  It  is  of  a  brown  color  on  its  back  with 
darker  brown,  reticulated  stripes.  Its  sides  are  of  a  lighter  color 
and  speckled  with  bright  pink  and  golden,  round  dots,  while  its 
belly  is  silver  white  or  light  yellow.  The  dorsal  fins  are  red- 
dish ;  the  first  row  of  fins  behind  the  gills  and  those  on  its 
belly  are  generally  edged  with  white  and  black.  This  is  its 
usual  appearance,  but  trout  caught  in  the  same  pool  often  vary 
in  their  colors.  Different  waters  also  change  the  shade  of  the 
body-coloring  and  strikingly  vary  the  hue  of  the  spots.  In 
deep  pools  the  trout  is  of  a  darker  shade  with  deep  red  spots  ; 
while  in  the  shallow  ripples  it  runs  to  the  other  extreme,  show- 
ing a  silver  belly  and  sides  sprinkled  with  bright  pink.  It  has 
no  scales  ;  nor  does  .it  require — like  its  scaleless  brothers,  the 
slimy  cat-fish  and  bull-pout — hot  water  and  a  scraping  knife  to 
fit  it  for  the  table. 

The  mountaineer's  plan  of  frying  it  with  its  head  on  in  butter 
and  corn-meal  is  the  best  for  the  palate.  The  color  of  the"  trout 
when  cooked  is  generally  salmon-yellow,  but  frequently  it  is  as 
white  as  the  flesh  of  a  bass.  It  would  require  a  finely  tempered 
palate  to  discover  any  difference  between  the  two  varieties. 
As  you  buy  them  of  the  native  fish-boy,  at  the  rate  of  a  cent  a 
piece,  it  takes  a  long  string  to  make  a  respectable  meal  for  a 
man  with  a  mountain  appetite.  The  quaint  pronunciation  of 
"  mounting"  for  mountain  might  better  be  used,  in  this  connec- 
tion, to  convey  an  exact  but  wider  meaning.  I  have  knowl- 
edge, from  seeing  the  feat  performed,  of  one  man  who,  in  a 
single  meal,  devoured  twenty-seven  of  these  fish,  and  that  with- 
out apparent  discomfiture.  However,  he  probably  picked  out 
the  smallest  of  the  fry. 

For  fishing  in  the  mountain  brooks,  the  most  important 
thing  required  is  a  pair  of  rubber  boots.  Those  knee-high  will 


1 10  With  Rod  and  Line. 

suit  the  purpose ;  for,  although  in  the  wildest  streams  a  man  is 
compelled  to  wade  almost  all  the  time,  he  can  avoid  the  deepest 
holes  by  springing  from  rock  to  rock.  The  kind  used  for 
marsh,  duck  hunting,  which  reach  to  the  hips,  would  be  too 
burdensome  to  wear  for  miles  down  an  impetuous  current.  As 
far  as  rods  are  concerned,  a  slender  birch  cut  from  the  bank  of 
the  stream  will  answer  every  purpose  of  a  ringed  and  jointed  rod; 
for  reels  with  lines  of  fifty  or  more  yards  can  not  be  used  with 
any  advantage.  A  silk  or  hair  line,  as  long  as  the  pole,  is  all 
the  length  required.  If  the  sportsman,  however,  wishes  to 
indulge  in  fishing  for  bass,  salmon,  or  perch  in  the  broad  creeks 
or  rivers,  it  would  be  well  to  have  the  angler's  complete  outfit. 
In  many  sections  he  can  take  a  turn  at  this  sport  in  connection 
with  what  is  considered  the  higher  branch  of  the  art.  As  for 
artificial  flies,  have  a  supply  with  you,  and  use  the  one  nearest 
like  the  one  in  season  ;  or,  what  is  better,  let  the  tow-head 
urchin  give  you  a  suggestion.  It  makes  a  great  difference  in 
the  choice  of  your  flies  whether  the  stream  is  crystal  in  clear- 
ness, or  is  slightly  discolored  by  a  recent  rain ;  and  whether 
you  have  ventured  out  before  breakfast,  or  the  day  is  drawing 
to  a  close.  It  would  be  strange  if  at  the  latter  hour  a  white  or 
yellow  fly,  like  those  dropping  on  the  surface  of  the  stream, 
could  not  be  used  with  pleasing  returns. 

The  best  fishing  I  ever  saw  done  was  by  a  mountaineer,  one 
day  in  early  June,  who  used  a  green-winged,  yellow-bodied, 
artificial  fly  with  a  stick-bait  worm  strung  on  the  hook.  As  we 
followed  down  the  current,  at  every  cast  of  his  line  he  pulled  a 
speckled  trout  from  the  water.  The  stick-bait  is  a  small,  white 
worm  found  in  tiny  bundles  of  water-soaked  twigs  along  the 
edges  of  the  stream.  The  twigs  seem  glued  together,  and  when 
opened,  reveal  an  occupant.  In  early  spring,  with  a  light  sinker 
on  your  line,  the  common,  red  angle-worm  on  a  featherless 
hook  can  be  used  with  advantage. 


The  Season  of  Soft  Skies.  ill 

A  great  deal  has  been  written  on  how  to  catch  trout,  but  these 
kindly  suggestions  are  of  about  as  much  value  as  rules  on  how 
to  swim  without  practice  in  the  water.  It  requires  a  knack  to 
catch  trout ;  it  is  really  an  art ;  and  no  one  can  ever  succeed  in 
bringing  into  camp  a  long  string  of  the  speckled  beauties,  until 
after  a  novitiate  of  several  days  actual  fishing, — or  unless  he 
meets  and  strikes  a  bargain  with  a  small  boy  who  has  had  a  suc- 
cessful morning  sport 

May  is  the  paragon  of  months  for  the  angler.  Take  it  in  the 
middle  of  the  month,  and  if  the  tourist  following  and  whipping 
some  well-known  trout  stream,  fails  to  catch  fish,  let  him  neither 
condemn  the  stream  or  the  season,  but  with  reason  draw  the 
conclusion  that  he  is  a  bungler  in  the  art  of  trout-fishing.  The 
genial  breezes  and  soft  skies  should  draw  every  genuine  lover  of 
nature  to  the  mountains.  The  deciduous  forests  of  the  valleys 
are  again  beautiful  with  their  fresh  foliage,  destroying  the  con- 
trast of  the  winter  between  their  dun  outlines  and  the  green 
fronts  of  the  higher  pine  groves,  or  the  bodies  of  the  giant  hem- 
locks scattered  in  their  midst.  Winter's  traces,  however,  are 
not  fully  concealed  ;  for  there  is  still  a  line  of  bare  woods 
between  the  green  line  slowly  creeping  up  the  slopes  and  the 
lower  edges  of  the  lofty,  black  balsam  wildernesses.  But  every 
day,  new  sprouts  of  leaves  appear,  and  soon  the  entire  body  of 
the  wood-lands  will  have  donned  its  summer  mantle.  The  grass 
is  of  a  bright  green  on  the  hill-sides ;  in  the  orchards,  the  apple 
trees  are  in  full  bloom ;  while  the  blossoms  of  the  cherry  are 
being  scattered  on  the  wings  of  breezes  from  the  aromatic 
balsams.  The  valleys,  on  either  side  the  narrow  woods  lining 
the  banks  of  the  streams,  are  dark  green  with  sprouting  fields 
of  wheat  and  rye,  or  of  lighter  shade  where  the  tender  blades 
of  the  corn  are  springing. 

In  the  forests  which  belt  the  streams,  the  bell-wood  is 
white  with  blossoms,  and  every  dog- wood  white  with  flowers. 


1 1 2  With  Rod  and  Line. 

"When  the  dog-wood  is  in  bloom,  then  is  the  time  to  catch 
trout,"  is  a  true,  though  trite,  observation.  At  the  same  time 
the  sassafras  is  yellow  with  buds,  and  the  red  maple,  purple. 
A  straggler  along  the  wood-land  path,  between  hedges  of  the 
budding  kalmia,  or  ivy  as  the  mountaineers  term  it,  will  be 
regaled  with  the  delicious  fragrance  of  the  wild-plum  and  crab- 
apple  whose  white  and  pink  blossomed  trees  are  often  entirely 
hidden  by  the  clumps  of  alder  or  the  close  sides  of  the  hedges. 
The  wild  grape  also  sheds  an  unequalled  perfume.  The  path 
occasionally  issues  from  the  shrubbery,  and  pursues  its  way 
under  the  open  trees,  with  the  hurrying  stream  on  one  hand, 
and  pleasing  glades  on  the  other.  The  woodland  is  vocal  with 
the  robin,  red-bird  and  oriole,  and  the  liquid  murmur  of  the 
stream.  The  early  violet  still  graces  the  sides  of  the  path,  and 
the  crimson-tipped  daisy  is  to  be  found  in  sunny  spaces. 

Let  the  evening  come.  At  its  approach,  the  keen-piped 
"bob-white"  of  the  male  quail  grows  less  and  less  frequent  in 
the  fields,  and  after  its  call  has  entirely  ceased,  and  the  moun- 
tains grow  gray,  then  finally  resolve  to  black,  formless  masses, 
the  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will  rings  wild  and  peculiar  out  of  the 
darkness  above  the  meadows.  If  the  night  is  free  from  rain, 
the  forests  and  clearings  will  be  ablaze  with  fire-flies.  Millions 
of  these  insects  spring  into  life  with  the  dusk.  Every  yard  of 
air  is  peopled  with  them  ;  and  for  one  who  has  never  ventured 
into  the  country  at  night,  their  bright  bodies  flashing  above  the 
road,  and  under  and  amid  the  branches  of  the  trees,  would  cer- 
tainly fill  him  with  profound  astonishment. 

As  has  been  described  in  the  geographical  sketch,  in  this 
volume,  Western  North  Carolina  is  a  mountainous  expanse, 
measuring  about  200  miles  in  length  by  an  average  breadth  of 
mountain  plateau  of  30  miles,  yet  in  all  this  area  there  is  not 
one  lake.  This  seems  a  singular  fact  when  contrasted  with  what 
is  known  of  the  waters  of  other  mountain  regions.  There  is 


Artificial  Trout  Ponds.  113 

no  lack  of  water,  however,  in  the  Carolina  mountains.  It 
gushes  up  from  thousands  of  springs  in  every  valley,  on  every 
mountain  slope  and  summit;  but  nowhere  does  it  find  a  deep, 
wide  basin  in  which  to  rest  itself  before  hurrying  to  the  sea. 
There  are  a  few  ponds  in  some  of  the  valleys,  but  they  are 
small,  and  are  all  artificial.  Many  are  stocked  with  trout,  from 
which  the  owners'  tables  are  easily  supplied.  One  of  these 
ponds  is  at  Estes'  place  near  Blowing  Rock.  Trout  are",  at 
intervals,  bagged  in  the  brooks  near  by,  and  then  freed  in  its 
waters.  The  tourist  can  be  paddled  in  a  boat  over  the  clear 
surface,  under  which  the  standing  trunks  of  the  flooded  trees 
are  visible,  and  may  be  fortunate  enough  to  pull  out  a  few  fish  ; 
but  the  fascination  of  killing  the  game  in  the  mountain  torrents 
is  wholly  lost. 

Colonel  Hampton,  of  Cashier's  valley,  has  a  well  stocked 
trout  pond  formed  by  the  dammed  up  waters  of  Cashier  creek. 
A  screen  fastened  into  the  dam  allows  the  escape  of  nothing 
but  the  water.  The  spawn  is  deposited  high  up  the  channels 
of  the  limpid  streams,  which  empty  into  this  pond.  A  fortune 
could  be  made  in  fish  culture  in  the  Carolina  mountains.  The 
valley  of  Jamestown,  six  miles  east  of  Cashier's  valley,  is  admir- 
ably suited  for  an  enterprise  of  this  kind.  A  lake  of  six  square 
miles  could  be  formed  here  by  damming,  at  a  narrow  gorge,  a 
fork  of  Toxaway. 

The  headwaters  of  all  the  rivers  may  be  whipped  with  suc- 
cess for  trout.  An  exception  to  this  general  statement  must 
be  made  of  the  slow-flowing  Little  Tennessee;  the  headwaters 
of  its  tributaries,  however,  teem  with  speckled  habitants.  Those 
streams  most  widely  known  as  trout  streams,  while  they,  in  fact, 
afford  fine  sport,  are  not  to  be  compared  with  many  loud-roar- 
ing little  creeks,  almost  wholly  unknown,  even  by  the  denizens 
of  the  vales  into  which  they  descend.  Let  the  angler  go  to 
the  loneliest  solitudes,  strike  a  stream  as  it  issues  from  the  bal- 


1 14  With  Rod  and  Line. 

sams;  and,  following  it  to  its  mouth  through  miles  of  laurel 
tangle,  he  will  cover  himself  with  glory.  It  will  be  a  well  filled 
basket  which  he  carries ;  therefore  his  wet  clothes,  his  bruised 
body,  tired  legs,  and  depleted  box  of  lines  and  flies  left  behind 
him  on  the  branches  of  the  trees,  ought  not  to  discourage  him 
from  trying  it  again. 

For  the  angler  of  adventurous  spirit  and  fond  of  the  pictur- 
esque, that  prong  of  the  Toe  river  which  flows  between  the  Black 
mountains  and  the  Blue  Ridge,  would  be  the  stream  for  him  to 
explore.  With  its  North  fork,  this  fork  unites  to  form  a  wide 
and  beautiful  river,  which  flows  along  the  line  between  Yancy 
and  Mitchell  counties,  and  empties  into  the  Nolechucky.  Its 
course  is  due  north.  Along  its  upper  reaches,  for  mile  after 
mile,  not  a  clearing  is  to  be  seen  ;  not  a  column  of  smoke  curls 
upward  through  the  trees,  unless  it  be  from  the  open  fire  before 
the  temporary  shelter  of  a  benighted  cattle-herder,  or  a  party 
of  bear-hunters ;  not  an  echo  from  the  cliffs  of  dog  or  man  ; 
only  the  sombre,  mossy  wood?,  the  rocks,  crags  and  the  stream 
beside  the  primitive  path  ;  the  loud  roar  of  rapids  and  cascades, 
or  the  low  murmur  of  impetuous  waters,  sweeping  under  the 
rich  drapery  of  the  vines.  One  is  not  only  outside  the  pale  of 
civilized  life,  but  is  widely  separated  from  visible  connections 
with  humanity.  Let  him  shout  with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs, 
no  one  will  hear  him  or  the  deep,  sepulchral  echo  that  comes 
up  from  the  black-wooded  defiles.  A  jay  from  out  a  wild 
cherry  may  answer  him,  or  an  eagle,  circling  high  over-head, 
scream  back  as  if  in  defiance  to  the  intruder. 

Here  are  the  trout.  Every  few  yards  there  are  deep,  clear 
pools,  whose  dark-lined  basins  make  the  surface  of  the  waters 
perfect  mirrors,  strong  and  clear ;  so  that  the  handsome  man, 
for  fear  of  the  fate  of  Narcissus,  would  better  avoid  leaning  over 
them.  Such  pools  are  the  haunts  of  trout  of  largest  size. 
They  dwell  in  them  as  though  protected  by  title-deeds ;  and  old 


The  Trip  to  the  Toe,  115 

fishermen  say  that  every  trout  clings  to  his  favorite  pool  with 
singular  tenacity.  Natural  death,  the  delusive  hook,  or  larger 
fish  that  have  been  ousted  from  their  own  domains,  are  all  the 
causes  that  can  take  the  trout  from  his  hereditary  haunts.  Here, 
in  the  still  waters  under  a  bridging  log,  or  in  some  hole  amid 
the  exposed  water-sunk  roots  of  the  rhododendron,  lie*  the  king 
trout,  during  the  middle  of  the  day,  on  the  watch  for  stray 
worms,  or  silly  gnats,  and  millers  which  flit  above,  then  drop 
in  the  waters,  with  as  much  wisdom  and  facility  as  they  hover 
around  and  burn  up  in  the  candle  flame. 

My  presumption,  in  the  following  suggestions,  is  that  the 
angler  is  able-bodied,  not  disinclined  to  walking,  and  of  the 
male  gender.  Leave  the  railroad  at  Black  Mountain  station. 
From  the  station  it  is  six  miles  to  the  foot  of  the  Black  moun- 
tains. The  walking  is  good  along  the  roads,  if  no  rain  is  fall- 
ing. One  board  nailed  to  a  post  on  the  bank  of  the  Swanna- 
noa,  will  inform  you  that  in  the  direction  you  have  come  is 
"  Black  Mt.  deepo  4  mi."  This  will  convince  you  that  some 
one  in  the  neighborhood  believes  in  the  phonetic  system  of 
spelling.  The  Swannanoa  presents  a  few  beautiful  pictures 
along  the  roadside.  The  farm-houses,  with  great  chimneys  on 
the  outside  at  both  gable  ends,  will  look  queer  to  the  North- 
erner; and  to  one  who  lives  in  a  marshy,  sandy,  or  prairie  sec- 
tion of  country,  the  old  fences  along  some  stretches  of  road, 
made  wholly  of  boulders  gathered  from  the  fields,  will  excite 
interest.  Many  of  them  are  overrun  with  vines,  and  in  sections 
are  as  green  as  the  hedge  that  lines  the  side  of  the  rocky  road 
nearest  the  stream.  There  are  a  number  of  foot-logs  on  the 
route,  but  it  requires'no  skill  to  cross  them,  even  if  a  rude  rail- 
ings are  not  at  their  sides.  It  might  be  advisable  to  state  that 
there  is  a  house  in  the  vicinity  where  pure  whisky  and  apple- 
jack can  be  bought,  for  it  is  a  wise  thing  to  have  a  little  liquor 
in  one's  pocket,  on  a  mountain  excursion.  It  is  an  antidote  for 


1 1 6  With  Rod  and  Line, 

the  bite  of  a  rattle-snake  ;  and  simply  to  provide  for  such  a 
dread  emergency,  should  it  be  carried.  There  is  a  prevalent 
'idea  that  whisky  drank  during  a  mountain  climb  is  a  help  to  a 
man.  It  is  the  worst  thing  a  person  can  use  at  such  a  time. 
Water  only  should  be  drank ;  and,  if  that  does  not  help  the  ex- 
hausted climber,  it  takes  no  wise  head  to  advise  an  hour's  rest 
under  a  forest  monarch  beside  the  path. 

Now,  as  there  has  been  a  casual  mention  made  of  rattle- 
snakes, a  few  words  on  that  subject  is  suggested.  There  are 
few  of  them  in  the  mountains,  the  numbers  varying  according 
to  the  condition  of  the  country.  From  most  sections  they  have 
disappeared,  and  it  is  only  by  singular  mischance  that  the 
traveler  stumbles  across  one.  During  four  summers,  in  which 
the  writer  traversed  all  of  the  mountain  section,  he  saw  but  one 
live  rattle-snake,  and  only  four  dead  ones.  However,  he  heard 
many  snake  stories  ;  but  he  knows  of  only  two  men  who  were 
bitten  by  the  venomous  reptiles.  The  mountaineers  say  that  in 
one  of  the  summer  months  the  snakes  undertake  a  pilgrimage, 
crossing  the  valleys  from  one  peak  to  another.  This  report 
conflicts  with  the  stories  of  their  hereditary  dens.  Perhaps 
they  return  after  the  flight  of  the  summer.  From  the  same 
source,  we  learn  that  in  August  the  snake  is  blind,  and  strikes 
without  the  customary  warning  whirr  of  his  buttoned  tail.  Pub- 
lished natural  histories  are  silent  on  this  subject,  and  too  close 
observation  from  nature  is  dangerous.  Also,  at  night  in  summer, 
the  rattle-snake  forsakes  the  grass  and  rocks,  and  pursues  its 
way  along  the  beaten  paths.  There  is  nothing  particularly 
startling  in  this  latter  statement,  except  to  the  trafficker  in 
"  moon-shine,"  and  the  love-lorn  mountain  lad.  Still,  if  one 
who  is  at  all  timid,  desires  or  is  required  to  take  an  evening 
walk,  he  can  avoid  all  danger  by  taking  to  the  grass  himself. 

There  are  well-known  cures  for  snake- bite,  applied  externally, 
but  this  does  not  detract  one  particle  from  the  fact  of  their  effi- 


Climbing  the  Blacks.  1 17 

cacy.  They  consist  in  binding  the  opened  body  of  the  snake 
itself  to  the  wound  ;  or,  if  a  live  chicken  can  be  caught,  cutting 
that  open  in  front  and  applying  it  to  absorb  the  poison.  Alt 
these  means  will  fail,  however,  if  a  leading  artery  has  been 
directly  struck;  otherwise,  a.  man  with  strong  constitution  can 
struggle  through. 

Before  you  reach  the  mountain,  engage  the  services  of  a  guide 
to  the  summit  of  Mitchell's  Peak,  and  then  down  the  east  side 
to  the  Toe.  Do  not  allow  this  senseless  name  to  prejudice  you 
against  the  stream.  It  is  as  beautiful  as  the  name  is  barbarous. 
The  original  name,  as  given  by  the  Indians,  was  Estatoe,  pro- 
nounced with  four  syllables.  Before  you  engage  any  one's 
services  determine  on  the  price.  If  you  intend  to  scale 
Mitchell's  Peak  only,  and  then  descend  again  to  the  valley  of 
the  Swannanoa,  as  the  path  is  a  plain  one,  you  might  as  well 
go  alone  as  pay  $2.50  per  day  to  the  professional  guide.  That 
is  their  regular  charge. 

The  climb  up  the  Black  mountains  is  arduous,  and  a  half-day 
is  required  to  complete  it.  Along  the  path  is  a  wealth  of  tim- 
ber that  will  one  day  entice  into  the  forest  depths  something 
livelier  than  the  perpendicular  saw  and  its  overshot  wheel. 
After  a  five  mile  tramp,  the  second  base  of  the  Black  is  reached 
Here,  on  an  open,  grassy  tract,  once  stood  the  summer  resi- 
dence of  William  Patton,  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina.  All 
that  remains  of  it  are  the  loose  stones  of  its  foundation,  and  a 
few  mouldering  timbers.  Cattle,  grazing  in  this  common  pas- 
ture, will  ring  their  bells  and  low  in  notice  of  your  arrival. 
Ravens  croak  from  the  balsams,  and  sail  with  wings  expanded 
overhead.  Close  before  the  vision,  appalling  in  its  funereal 
coloring  and  immensity  of  height,  rises  the  front  of  the  Black 
mountain,  the  king  of  the  Appalachians,  arrayed  in  those  for- 
ests which  scorn  to  spring  elsewhere  but  on  the  loftiest  of 
ranges. 


1 1 8  With  Rod  and  Line. 

For  the  next  five  miles  the  bridle-path  leads  through  woods 
similar  to  those  described  at  length  in  the  sketch  on  bear  hunt- 
ing. If  thin  puffs  of  cloud  are  scurrying  through  the  trees 
and  brushing  against  you,  do  not  betray  your  ignorance  by  ask- 
ing the  guide  where  the  smoke  comes  from.  They  have  every 
appearance  of  smoke,  and  it  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  for  you  to  ask  this  question.  On  Mitchell's  Peak  it  is 
advisable  to  remain  all  night,  and  a  shelving  rock,  a  short  dis- 
tance down  from  the  summit,  will  furnish  excellent  quarters 
after  wood  is  brought  for  a  great  fire  before  it.  Eat  your  cold 
snack,  drink  a  cup  of  clear,  hot  coffee,  and,  rolling  up  in  your 
blanket  dream  of  trout  fishing  in  the  Toe.  Most  likely  they 
will  be  waking  dreams ;  for  a  high  old  fire  blazing  in  your  eyes, 
and  a  cold  rock  under  you,  are  not  conducive  to  slumber 
Even  in  May  your  back  will  almost  freeze  while  your  front 
grows  hot  enough  to  crackle. 

If  no  clouds  Wrap  the  pinnacle  of  Mitchell's  Peak,  this,  the 
highest  mountain  east  of  the  Mississippi,  will  afford  to  the  en- 
thusiastic angler  the  grandest  of  prospects, 

"When  heaven's  wide  arch 
Is  glorious  with  the  sun's  returning  march." 

No  two  mornings  will  present  the  same  panoply  of  cloud 
over  the  eastern  mountainous  horizon,  the  coloring  will  vary, 
the  mists  will  cling  in  differing  silver  folds  in  the  hollows  of  the 
hills,  but  changeless  in  its  outlines  will  lie  the  soft  purple  moun- 
tain ocean. 

Mitchell's  Peak  rises  to  an  elevation  of  6,711  feet,  and  forms 
one  of  the  spurs  in  the  short,  lofty  backbone  of  a  range  termed,, 
from  the  somber  forests  covering  its  upper  slopes,  the  Black 
mountains.  The  range  is  about  twenty  miles  in  length.  It  is 
wholly  in  Yancy  county,  and  trends  due  north  toward  the  Iron 
mountains.  A  wide  gap,  filled  with  low  mountains  and  the  val- 
leys of  the  Toe,  stretches  between  its  northern  terminal  point, 
Bowlen's  Pyramid,  and  the  Smokies.  On  the  summit  of  Mitch- 


A  Ghost  Story. 


119 


ell's  Peak   is  the   solitary   grave   of  Professor  Elisha   Mitchell, 
piled  round  with  stones,  and  at  present  bare  of  monument. 

The  descent  to  the  Toe  is  a  difficult  journey  down  the  east 
slope  of  the  mountain.  The  exact  distance  in  miles  is  unknown. 
You  can  guess  at  it  as  well  as  the  guide,  and  most  likely  there 
will  be  no  difference  between  his  and  your  figures  ;  for  his  will 
be  stretched  by  exaggeration,  and  your's  by  the  tediousness  of 
the  descent.  As  soon  as  you  reach  the  stream  pay  and  dismiss 
him,  and  pursue  your  way,  casting  your  flies  where  the  water 
is  most  inviting.  There  is  no  reason  why  100  trout  should 
not  grace  the  angler's  string  by  the  time  he  has  finished  for  the 
day,  and,  at  some  humble  cabin  far  below,  is  snugly  ensconsed 
for  the  night. 

There  are  many 
spots  of  rare,  syl- 
van beauty  in  the 
region  of  the  up- 
per Toe  ;  many 
spots  of  wild  and 
melancholy  mag- 
nificence, —  dells 
that  seem  the  nat- 
ural haunts  for  sa- 
tyrs and  fawns, 
and  where  a  mod- 
ern Walter  Scott 
might  weave  and 
locate  some  most 
fas  cinating  fic- 
tions. The  moun- 
taineer is  apparent 
ly  devoid  of  super- 
stition ;  and,  as  far 
as  the  writer  could 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    TOE. 


wm 


1 20  Wim  Rod  and  Line. 

ascertain,  no  legends,  like  those  of  the  Catskills,  shed  their  hal- 
lowed light  on  any  portion  of  the  solitude.  In  lieu  of  a  legend 
let  him  tell  a  ghost  story. 

One  ghost  has  no  known  grave  ;  the  other's  lies  beside  the 
stream  in  an  umbrageous  dale  high  up  in  the  mountains.  The 
careless  stranger  passing  down  the  mountain  would  not  perceive 
it.  It  is  a  low  mound  scarcely  rising  above  the  level  ground. 
Covering  it  are  light-green  mosses,  as  ancient  apparently  as  the 
lichens  which  decorate  the  trunk  of  the  the  two-hundred-year- 
old  water  birch  standing  in  lieu  of  a  headstone  at  one  end  of  it. 
There  are  no  rocks  or  stones  to  be  seen,  except  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  tree  where  its  roots  are  exposed.  The  stream  is 
noisy ;  but  it  could  not  be  otherwise  in  so  rocky  a  channel, 
and  so  is  excusable  for  disturbing  the  quiet  of  the  grave.  There 
are  other  trees  shadowing  the  circle,  but  beside  the  monarch 
birch  they  sink  into  insignificance.  In  the  grave  was  once 
placed  the  cold  form  of  a  white-haired  old  man  ;  but  half  a  cen- 
tury has  passed  since  then,  and  what  was  flesh  and  bone  has 
long  ago  resolved  to  natural  dust. 

This  dust  was  Daniel  Smith.  He  came  from  Tennessee;  up 
the  Nolechucky  and  the  Toe  to  this  dale.  His  widowed  daugh- 
ter and  her  baby  boy  were  with  him  when  he  built  a  log  cabin, 
and  formed  a  clearing.  On  the  same  side  of  the  creek,  fifty 
steps  from  the  grave,  there  is  a  space  of  several  acres  grown 
with  trees  of  fewer  years  and  lesser  height  than  the  surround- 
ing pristine  forest.  In  the  center  of  this  fresh  wood,  amid  the 
brambles  and  briers,  the  straggler,  by  pulling  them  aside,  will 
perceive  a  few  crumbling  stones  piled  in  a  heap  like  the  ruin  of 
a  chimney.  If  there  is  a  single  timber  concealed  under  the 
bushes,  the  foot  will  sink  through  it  without  resistance.  It  is 
the  site  of  Smith's  cabin.  A  lofty  locust  with  wide-spread 
branches  springs,  from  where  once  was  the  hearth-stone. 
Where  the  babe  crept  on  the  puncheon  floor,  tree-sprouts,  with 


A  Cloud  of  Fear.  1 21 

thorns  and  thistles,  are  entangled.  It  is  a  desolate  spot  rendered 
doubly  so  by  the  knowledge,  had  from  sight  of  the  chimney 
stones,  of  what  once  was  there ;  and  by  the  black  balsams 
which  appear  along  the  steep  above  it.  It  seems  that  Hood 
had  seen  it  before  he  wrote  the  verse : 

"For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear, 

A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said ,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 

The  place  is  haunted  !" 

The  old  man  showed  no  liking  for  outside  associations,  and 
scarcely  ever  appeared  at  the  cabins  of  the  settlers  far  below 
him.  This  disposition  became  more  marked  after  the  death  of 
his  daughter  when  the  boy  was  about  ten  years  old.  He  was  a 
bright,  blue-eyed,  curly-haired,  little  fellow,  and  always  went 
a-fishirig  with  the  old  man,  who  was  an  ardent  angler.  Never 
was  father  more  wrapped  up  in  his  child,  than  this  vener- 
able fisherman  in  his  grandson.  He  was  never  seen  without  the 
boy ;  and  the  stray  hunter  coming  down  the  trail,  often  saw 
their  forms  before  him, — the  silver-haired  man  with  his  fishing 
rod,  and  the  merry,  laughing  boy  with  his  hand  clasping  his 
grandsire's.  But  Death  came.  During  a  heavy  flood  the  boy 
was  accidentally  drowned,  and  his  body  was  never  recovered. 

The  old  man  was  now  thought  to  be  crazy.  He  allowed  no 
one  to  enter  his  cabin,  and  some  said  he  fished  from  morning 
till  night,  in  the  insane  hope  of  catching  his  boy,  whom  he 
imagined,  was  transformed  to  a  trout.  One  who  had  watched 
him  from  his  concealment  in  a  thicket,  said  that  every  fish  the 
old  man  caught,  he  examined  carefully,  as  if  searching  for  some 
peculiar  mark,  and  mumbled  to  himself:  "No,  no,  not  Will  this 
time.  Strange  where  the  boy  is!" 

One  day  Daniel  Smith's  dog,  cowed  apparently  by  hunger, 
appeared  at  a  Toe  river  cabin.  The  fierce  nature  of  the  animal 
was  gone;  he  begged  piteously  with  his  eyes  and  voice,  and 


1 22  With  Rod  and  Line. 

then  ate  ferociously  all  that  was  given  him.  The  settlers,  sus- 
pecting the  worst,  went  to  Smith's  cabin ;  forced  in  the  door, 
and  found  the  occupant  dead.  They  buried  him  under  the 
water  birch,  where  the  mound  marks  the  place.  The  same 
figures  which  attracted  the  attention  of  the  stray  hunter  fifty 
years  ago,  are  seen  by  the  hunter  and  traveler  to-day  ;  but  while 
they  interested  then,  they  frighten  now ;  and  no  one,  familiar 
with  the  story,  passes  through  the  dale  without  turning  his  head 
in  dread  and  hurrying  on.  At  night,  when  the  moon  bathes 
in  golden  light  the  dark  forests,  the  straggler  professes  often  to 
have  seen  before  him,  in  plainly  visible,  but  weird,  out-lines,  the 
stooped  figure  of  the  old  angler  and  his  blithe,  bare-foot  com- 
panion. 

There  is  good  fishing  in  Cane  river,  on  the  west  slope  of  the 
Black  mountains.  If  the  angler  prefers  to  try  the  latter  stream, 
instead  of  the  Toe,  he  can,,  at  a  point  a  short  distance  before 
reaching  the  summit  of  Mitchell's  Peak,  turn  to  the  left  and  fol- 
low down  a  plain  trail,  fishing  as  he  descends,  to  ' '  Big  Tom  " 
Wilson's.  From  Wilson's  it  is  fifteen  miles  to  Burnsville.  It 
is  a  small,  country  village,  amid  sublime  surroundings.  From 
the  high  knoll,  where  stands  the  academy,  a  pleasant  prospect 
can  be  obtained.  In  the  morning,  as  it  opens  over  the  rolling 
peaks  in  the  east ;  or,  as  the  sun  descends  behind  the  receding 
lines  of  purple  ranges,  the  scenes  presented  in  their  glory  of 
cloud-coloring,  their  brilliant  effect  of  light  and  shade,  and  the 
soft,  poetic  splendor  of  the  mountains,  are  of  beauty  too  divine, 
and  of  duration  too  transient,  to  be  caught  by  the  painter. 

Thirty  miles  west  of  Asheville,  fine  sport  can  be  had  along 
the  Pigeon.  Leave  the  railroad  at  Pigeon  River  station.  No 
teams  can  be  procured  here ;  so  if  you  are  disinclined  to  walk- 
ing ten  or  or  twelve  miles,  continue  your  trip  to  Waynesville, 
and  then  drive  to  the  desired  point.  It  is  an  inviting  walk  up 
the  river.  The  stream  flows  broad,  deep,  and  clear,  through 


Whipping  the  Pigeon.  123 

rich  valleys,  affording  fine  farming-  land.  The  level  fields  are 
green  with  oats,  corn  and  wheat ;  the  farm  houses  are  painted 
white,  the  yards  neat  in  appearance,  and  everything  in  keeping 
with  the  fertility  of  the  soil.  The  valley  views  are  extremely 
picturesque  ;  for  you  are  amid  some  of  the  loftiest  mountains  of 
the  system.  The  Balsams  lie  toward  the  south;  and  if  you  fol- 
low up  the  right  fork,  you  will  be  exalted  by  the  sight  of  these 
mountains  looming  along  the  horizon.  The  fishing  is  excellent, 
but  the  east  prong  is  generally  preferred. 

Up  the  east  prong,  the  wild  beauty  of  stream  and  woods  can- 
not be  surpassed.  There  is  such  a  richness  about  the  foliage, 
such  a  purity  in  the  waters,  such  an  inspiration  of  atmosphere, 
that  too  long-continued  companionship  might  be  disastrous  to 
your  outside,  worldly  connections.  Cold  mountain  rises  on  the 
west ;  Pisgah  on  the  east.  This  latter  peak  is  a  famous  height 
for  the  sight-seer.  It  is  easily  accessible,  and  from  its  summit 
the  view  is  almost  boundless.  The  broad  valleys,  watered  by 
the  Hominy  and  French  Broad,  stretch  toward  the  eastern 
limit.  The  vales  of  the  Pigeon  lie  on  the  west  and  north.  All 
around*  the  skirts  of  the  plateau  are  pinned  by  mountains  loftier 
than  the  one  beneath  your  feet.  To  the  south  and  west  the 
Balsams ;  to  the  north  and  northwest  the  Smokies  ;  and  on  the 
other  verges  of  the  horizon,  the  Blue  Ridge,  Saluda,  Swanna- 
noa,  Craggy,  Black,  Iron,  and  Newfound  ranges.  Your  stand- 
point is  one  of  the  most  symmetrical  of  peaks,  and  is  always 
marked  out  by  the  observer  on  the  streets  of  Asheville  and 
Hendersonville. 

There  are  agreeable  people  living  on  the  Pigeon,  and  among- 
them  you  will  fare  well,  especially  if  you  are  an  expert  angler. 
Explore  the  wildest  ramblings  of  the  stream,  and  whip  every 
pool  from  the  white  falls  down  to  the  valley  known  as  the  old 
Lenoir  farm,  where  there  is  such  a  pleasant  mingling  of  wild 


1 24  With  Rod  and  Line. 

and  rugged  mountain  scenery,  with  rich  pastoral  landscape,  that 
one  can  never  weary  of  viewing  it. 

A    famous  fishing  ground  is  that  section  of  the  great  Smokies 
watered  by  the  Cataluche.     Besides  the   trout-fishing,  there  is 
enough  in  this  region  to  allure  into  it  not  only  the  angler,  and 
hunter,  but  the  painter  and  poet.      It  is  wildly  romantic  in  every 
feature.      By  the  well-traveled  road  that  leads  from  Waynesville 
to  Knoxville,  Tennessee,  the  tourist  can   reach  it  by  a  22  mile 
drive  from  the  former  village.     The   country  along  Jonathan's 
creek  is  as  fine  as  that  along  the  Pigeon.     An  air  of  prosperity 
pervades ;  and  as  one  rattles   on  over  the  pebbled  road,  by  the 
pink  and  white   flowering   hedges  on  one  side,  and   the  green 
fields  on  the  other,  the  friendly  salutations  received  by  him  from 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  will  convince   him  that  he  is  not 
in  a  land  of  strangers,  and  that,  if  any  accident  befall  him,  kind 
and  willing  hands  will  be  ready  to  render  assistance.      Besides 
the  farm  dwellings  and  their  out-buildings,  noisy  mills  are  situate 
along  the    stream  ;  and  in  cleared  spaces  amid    the  woods,  at 
intervals,    can   be  seen    country  churches    and  log  and    frame 
school-houses.      Leaving  the  valley,  the  road  ascends  Covfc  Creek 
mountain,  whereon  can   be  obtained  a  wide-sweeping  view  of 
nestling  vales  and  receding   mountain  ranges,      Now  follows  a 
long  ride  around  mountain  brows,  until  at  length  you  draw  rein 
before  a  small,  unpainted,   frame  house,  hanging  between  the 
highway  and  the  abrupt  edge  of  a  deep  valley,  on  whose  steep 
side  a  road,  like  a  great  yellow  snake,  winds  downward  to  the 
river.      If  it  is  at  the   close   of  a  bright  afternoon,  the    golden 
streaks  of  light,  gleaming  from  the  gaps   and  across   the  pine- 
capped  tops  of  Mount  Starling  and  its  black,  brother  peaks  of 
the  Smokies,  will  set  in  indescribable  splendor  the  mountains  to 
the  east ;   and   darker  will  lie    the  shadows  filling    the    canon, 
within  whose  depths,  1,000  feet  below  you,  glistens  the  waters  of 
Cataluche. 


A   Visit  to  Catalnche.  125 

In  spite  of  the  steepness  of  the  canon's  side,  lofty  woods 
cover  it,  and  are  as  thickly  planted  along  the  descending  road 
that,  after  leaving  the  main  highway  at  the  frame  dwelling  just 
mentioned,  no  glimpses  can  be  had  of  the  lower  landscape.  If 
the  angler  has  not  brought  a  jointed  rod  with  him,  before  he 
has  traveled  far  down  this  winding  way,  he  can  secure  from  the 
roadside  an  excellent  pole  in  the  shape  of  a  long,  lithe  birch. 
There  is  a  tumultuous  ford  of  the  river  to  cross  just  after  reach- 
ing the  narrow  valley,  and  then  the  road  leads  up  stream. 

Our  party  of  sixteen  ladies  and  gentlemen,  which,  on  a  fish- 
ing excursion,  visited  the  Cataluche  river  in  the  early  part  of 
June,  1879,  Put  UP  at  Mr.  Palmer's,  the  first  farm  house  reached 
after  passing  the  ford.  At  that  time  a  high,  pine  picket  fence 
enclosed  the  yard  surrounding  a  roomy  house,  with  large,  open 
hall  through  its  center,  and  a  long,  wide  porch  in  the  rear.  In 
spite  of  our  numbers,  the  farmer  and  his  wife  volunteered  to 
accommodate  us  all,  and  did  so  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 

The  river  is  no  more  than  100  yards  from  the  house,  and  soon 
after  our  arrival  that  day  two  of  us,  with  our  rods,  started  for 
its  banks.  It  was  just  before  dusk,  and  white  millers  and  gnats 
were  fluttering  above  and  dropping  on  the  rapid  water.  The 
stream  seemed  perfectly  alive  with  trout,  coming  up  in  sight 
with  a  splatter  to  secure  these  dainty  morsels.  The  hour  was 
propitious,  and  we  improved  it.  Without  moving  from  a  line 
of  smooth,  deep-flowing  pools,  we  secured  a  me.ss  of  forty  trout 
before  it  became  too  dark  to  cast  our  lines.  Even  if  you  have 
no  fishing  tackle  with  you,  it  is  interesting  at  evening  to  sit  be- 
side a  stream  and  watch  the  trout  secure  his  prey.  A  miller 
drops  on  the  water,  the  'swift  current  carries  it  for  a  few  feet; 
then  there  is  a  splash  and  the  insect  has  vanished.  If  you  had 
looked  sharp,  you  would  have  seen  a  wary  trout  dart  through 
the  water,  rise  to  the  surface,  slap  the  miller  with  his  tail  to 
kill  it,  and  almost  with  the  same  movement  suck  it  into  his 


J 26  With  Rod  and  Line. 

mouth.  For  the  very  reason  that  the  live  fly  floats  down  stream 
this  ought  to  instruct  the  angler  to  let  his  artificial  fly  drift  in 
the  same  manner ;  and  then,  as  the  quick  jerk  informs  him  that 
a  trout  has  struck,  pull  the  line  up  the  current.  You  must  be 
as  quick  in  your  movements  as  the  fish  is  in  his,  or  you  will 
lose  him. 

After  brushing  through  the  weeds  and  briers  and  climbing  a 
rambling,  rail  fence,  we  came  out  on  the  road  beside  one  of  our 
friends  and  a  small  boy,  who  appeared  to  be  striking  a  bargain 
over  a  long  string  of  trout.  The  boy  "  counted  on  "  there 
being  a  hundred  fish  in  the  lot,  and  just  at  our  arrival  he  had 
accepted  seventy-five  cents  for  them,  and  was  making  the  trans- 
fer. We  signified  our  perfect  willingness  to  keep  dark  to  the 
rest  of  the  party  on  how  he  had  secured  them.  The  young 
angler  was  a  bright-looking  little  fellow,  with  the  clearest  of 
complexions,  ruddy  cheeks  and  dark  hair.  He  was  barefooted 
and  wore  a  straw  hat,  homespun  pantaloons,  jacket,  and  tattered 
shirt ;  and,  as  we  stood  with  him  in  the  road,  he  regaled  us  as 
follows : 

"Did  you  catch  all  those  trout  yourself?"  was  asked. 

"Yes,  sir;  an'  all  ov  'em  sence  dinner.  I  heerd  you'uns 
war  comin',  an'  I  knowed  some  o'  you  all  cud'nt  ketch  trouts 
by  yourselfs,  so  I  reckoned  on  arnin'  a  little  by  fetchin'  in  a 
string." 

"What  did  you  catch  them  with?" 

"This  'ere." 

He  exhibited  a  hair  line  and  a  fly  made  of  a  crooked  pin, 
wound  with  a  small  piece  of  red  flannel  and  a  black  and  white 
feather.  "I  hid  the  pole  up  yander, "  he  continued,  pointing 
behind  him. 

"What,  all  with  a  pin  hook?"  exclaimed  the  purchaser  of 
the  trout. 

"Law!  yes.     Why  not?     A  pin  hook  '11  do  ef  you  haint  got 


An  Urchins  Ideas  on  Angling.  127 

enny  other;  but  I'd  like  powerful  well  to  hev  one  o'  them  store 
hooks  you'uns  hev." 

We  gave  him  one  forthwith,  and  then  asked:  "When  is  the 
best  time  to  fish,  son?" 

"  When  the  signs  air  in  the  head  ;  the  signs  in  the  awmanac, 
you  know." 

' '  Oh,  yes.  When  you  haven't  fly  hooks,  what  bait  is  the 
best?" 

"Young  hornets." 

"What  baits  do  you  use  for  young  hornets?"  was  next 
asked,  and  rightly  deemed  a  very  important  question  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  Rob  a  nest,"  he  answered,  and  continued  :  "  Grasshoppers 
is  good,  too  ;  so  is  stickbaits.  I  don't  keer  much  which  I  hev  ; 
they're  all  good." 

"Well,  you're  an  expert,  my  son.  Why,  I  believe  he  could 
catch  trout  without  hook,  line,  or  bait,"  remarked  the  pur- 
chaser, with  a  laugh. 

"  In  course,  I  could,"  returned  the  boy  in  a  matter-of-fact 
voice  ;  "I  don't  need  no  hooks  or  bait,  I  don't." 

"  Come,  buddy  ;   no  fish  stories  now." 

"  I'd  use  a  snare.  They're  fust-rate  tricks  whar  the  water  is 
still  an'  a  little  riley.  You  see  I  make  a  runnin'  noose  in  a  long 
horse  ha'r,  or  two  or  three  ov  'em  tied  together  on  the  end  o'  a 
pole.  I  watch  behind  a  log  till  I  see  a  big  trout,  an' then  I  drap 
the  noose  over  his  head,  an',  with  a  quick  jerk,  snake  him  out 
I've  caught  lots  that  a  way." 

This  method  of  fishing,  as  described  by  the  boy,  is  often 
practiced.  It  is  an  outrage  that  nets  are  used  in  some  of  the 
trout  streams.  Hundreds  of  fish  are  frequently  killed  in  a  few 
hours  by  this  unsportsman-like  practice.  In  some  counties  (and 
it  ought  to  be  in  all)  it  is  a  direct  infringement  of  the  law;  and 


128 


With  Rod  and  Line. 


such  practices  should  be  exposed  on   every   occasion,  and  pun- 

ished to  the  full  extent  of  the  statute. 

Whip-poor-wills  whistled  their 
shrillest  that  June  night,  and  the 
air  was  ablaze  with  millions  of  fire- 
flies. A  grand  scene  was  revealed 
when  the  round,  yellow  moon 
came  creeping  up  from  behind  the 
ragged  ridge  that  walls  the  eastern 
bank  of  Cataluche.  The  pines 
along  the  summit  of  the  ridge, 
stood  out  like  black  skeletons.  A 
light,  almost  as  bright  as  day, 
flooded  the  shut-in  valley,  casting 
dark  shadows  on  the  stony  ground 
under  the  giant  forest  trees,  silver- 
ing their  tall  tops,  and  whitening 
the  bare,  mast-like  pines,  standing 
girdled  in  the  fields  of  sprouting 
corn.  The  valley  was  resonant 

ON   THE    CATALUCHE. 


freshing  evening  breeze  swept  the  porch  of  the  old  farm-house, 
carrying  with  it  a  sleepy  influence  which  knocked  the  props  out 
from  under  the  drowsy  eye-lids  of  our  party,  and  caused  one 
after  another  to  steal  away  to  bed. 

The  more  enterprising  and  enthusiastic  anglers  were  out  and 
fishing  before  breakfast  ;  but  after  that  meal  we  all  went.  We 
pursued  every  bend  of  the  romantic  stream,  catch'ing  trout  at 
every  cast  of  our  flies.  One  day  in  particular  is  to  be  remem- 
bered. A  soft,  warm  shower  had  fallen,  and  then  cleared 
brightly  by  9  o'clock.  The  best  of  breezes,  one  from  the 
south,  was  blowing  through  the  hemlocks.  The  current  of  the 
stream  was  slightly  riled  ;  thus  everything  being  propitious  for 


Trout  Streams  in  Swain  County.  129 

the  sport.  From  one  pool  alone,  ten  gold  and  pink-spotted 
trout  were  taken  that  morning.  It  was  a  spot  where  a  steep 
cliff,  festooned  with  vines,  lifted  itself  from  the  water  on  one 
side.  On  the  other,  was  a  wide  curve  of  the  bank,  and  along  it 
grew  azaleas  and  rhododendrons  under  the  pines.  The  Rhine- 
wine  colored  waters  lay  dark  in  this  picturesque  basin  ;  and 
from  them  were  lifted  trout  after  trout,  beguiled  by  the  treach- 
erous fly.  Between  four  and  five  hundred  fish  were  brought  in 
that  evening. 

There  are  many  other  streams  In  the  Great  Smoky  mountains 
about  equal  in  excellence  to  Cataluche.  Among  these  are  the 
Ocona  Lufta,  Forney,  Hazel  and  Eagle  creeks  in  Swain  county. 
Soco  is  a  natural  trout  stream  ;  but,  flowing  as  it  does  through 
the  Cherokee  reservation,  its  waters  have  been  so  whipped  by 
the  aboriginal  fishermen  that  it  can  not  be  recommended  to  the 
angler.  On  its  banks  the  angler,  starting  from  Waynesville, 
will  travel  to  reach  the  Ocona  Lufta.  The  waters  of  the  Ocona 
Lufta,  even  at  its  mouth  in  Tuckasege  river,  are  of  singular 
purity,  and  through  some  portions  of  its  course,  from  racing 
over  a  moss-lined  bed,  appear  clear  emerald  green.  Above 
the  Indian  town  the  valley  grows  narrow,  and  prosperous 
farmers  live  along  its  banks.  The  forests  are  rich  in  cherry  and 
walnut  trees,  and  all  necessary  water  power  is  afforded  by  the 
river.  Joel  Conner's  is  a  pleasant  place  to  stop. 

Forney  creek  empties  into  the  Tuckasege  at  some  distance 
below  Charleston.  The  ride  to  its  mouth  will  interest  even  the 
most  practical  of  travelers.  At  times,  the  waters  create  a 
tumultuous  uproar  over  a  broken  channel ;  then  with  startling 
silence  they  run  smopth  and  swift  for  a  hundred  yards,  and, 
making  a  bold  sweep  around  a  craggy  mountain,  disappear  as 
though  the  earth  had  swallowed  them.  There  are  several 
islands  in  the  stream  ;  and  at  one  place  there  is  a  twin  pair 
lying  close  together  in  a  channel  wider  than  usual.  Wild  ducks 


1 3O  With  Rod  and  Line. 

will  often  be  seen  keeping  their  unwavering  flight  around  the 
bends  ;  and  frequently  from  the  water  edge  of  a  clump  of 
alders,  spice-wood  and  thunderberry  bushes,  a  blue  heron,  with 
lank  neck  outstretched,  will  sail  lazily  out  over  the  river.  The 
mail  man,  mounted  on  a  cadaverous  horse,  with  leather  mail- 
bags  upon  his  saddle,  is  apt  \o  meet  the  tourist  ;  but,  differing 
from  the  general  run  of  the  natives,  he  travels  on  time  and  is 
loath  to  stop  and  talk.  Not  so  with  the  man  who,  with  a 
bushel  of  meal  over  his  shoulders,  is  coming  on  foot  from  the 
nearest  "corn-cracker."  At  your  halt  for  a  few  points  in 
regard  to  your  route,  he  will  answer  to  the  best  of  his  ability ; 
and  then,  if  you  feel  so  inclined,  he  will  continue  planted  in  the 
road  and  talk  for  an  hour  without  once  thinking  of  setting 
down  his  load.  The  fishing  in  Forney  creek  is  excellent.  It 
is  in  a  rugged  section,  and  at  its  mouth  the  scenery  is  wild 
enough  to  hold  forth  fine  inducements.  Hazel  and  Eagle 
creeks  empty  into  the  Little  Tennessee  in  a  still  more  lonely 
and  less  inhabited  section,  a  number  of  miles  below  the  mouth 
of  the  Tuckasege. 

The  Nantihala  river  is  prolific  in  trout  near  its  pure  sources ; 
and,  along  -its  lower  reaches,  is  alive  with  other  fish,  among 
which  the  gamey  black-bass  is  enough  to  allure  the  angler.  A 
man  may  be  an  expert  bass  fisher,  but  a  veritable  failure  at 
trouting.  When  one  discovers  this  fact,  with  a  sound  pole, 
long  line  and  reel,  try  the  minnow  and  trolling-hook  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Nantihala.  In  the  Tuckasege  his  efforts  may  be 
rewarded  with  a  salmon.  A  number  of  these  royal  fish  were 
placed  in  this  stream  a  few  years  since,  and  are  now  frequently 
landed.  Nearly  every  creek  that  empties  into  the  Tuckasege 
teems  with  trout.  Among  these  are  the  north  fork  of  Scott's 
creek,  Dark  Riclge  creek,  and  Caney  Fork,  all  in  Jackson 
county.  A  gentleman  of  undoubted  veracity,  who  has  whipped 
nearly  every  stream  in  the  mountains,  pronounces  the  Dark 


Carolina's  Grandest  Cataract,  131 

Ridge  creek  to  be  the  best  of  any  he  ever  cast  a  fly  in.  Its 
head- waters  can  be  struck  by  turning  from  the  State  road  about 
seven  miles  from  Waynesville,  and  pursuing  a  left-hand,  unfre- 
quented road,  into  the  wilderness.  There  are  no  farms  along 
its  banks.  Great,  silent  forests,  in  which  the  locust  and  hickory 
attain  enormous  size,  embosom  it.  Its  edges  are  wild  with 
tangled  rhododendron  and  kalmia  ;  its  waters,  small  in  volume, 
but  cold  and  crystal. 

Fourteen  miles  south  of  Webster,  the  county-seat  of  Jackson, 
is  the  most  stupendous  waterfall  of  the  mountains.  It  is 
said  that  on  certain  evenings,  when  that  dead  quiet,  prophetic 
of  a  storm,  dwells  in  the  valley,  the  dull  roar  of  the  falls  can 
be  heard  eight  miles  down  the  river.  It  is  on  the  Tuckasege, 
about  20  miles  below  its  sources.  There  are  three  ways  to 
reach  it ;  two  from  above,  on  either  bank,  and  one  from  below,  on 
the  west  bank.  The  one  way  by  the  east  bank  is  exceedingly 
arduous.  To  approach  it  from  the  west  bank,  the  traveler  jour- 
neys up  the  Cullowhe  road  from  Webster.  It  is  a  delightful 
ride,  over  a  picturesque  highway,  to  where  the  river  is  struck  at 
Watson's.  By  dismounting  there,  you  can  follow,  without  diffi- 
culty, on  foot  down  stream  to  the  desired  point.  This  latter 
approach  is  preferable  to  the  one  undertaken  by  our  party.  We 
left  the  highway  about  three  miles  below  Watson's.  It  is  a 
rough  walk  of  two  miles  to  the  waters,  half  a  mile  below  the 
falls.  There  is  no  trail  to  follow,  and  it  requires  some  activity 
to  scale  the  rocks,  jump  the  logs,  and  crawl  through  the  thickets. 
Hard  by  the  river,  over  a  cliff  200  feet  high,  Rough-running 
brook  pours  its  waters  in  rain  and  mist.  If  a  certain  guide's 
story  is  to  be  believed,  over  this  cliff,  three  deer,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  an  eager  pack  of  hounds,  once  plunged  unwittingly. 

Along  this  part  of  the  river  the  trout  are  thick  and  hungry 
enough  to  afford  all  the  sport  you  wish  ;  and,  if  there  is  a  dark 
sky  and  dark  water,  it  will  be  a  gala-day.  The  scenery  of  the 


1 3 2  With  Rod  and  L ine. 

falls  is  as  interesting  as  the  fishing.  On  the  left  rises  a  gray, 
granite  cliff,  perfectly  plumb  with  its  base,  150  feet  above  the 
river.  It  is  somewhat  mantled  with  green  vines  and  mosses, 
and  a  few  shaggy  cedars  cling  to  its  front.  On  the  .right,  the 
cliff  is  less  precipitous,  and  on  it  the  forest  and  its  undergrowth 
springs  dense  and  rank.  In  front  pours  the  water,  a  great 
sparkling  cloud.  For  60  or  70  feet  down,  it  is  a  perpendicular, 
unbroken  sheet ;  then  a  projecting  ledge  catches  and  breaks  it 
into  two  columns,  to  fall  through  the  last  25  feet  of  space.  The 
frowning  cliffs,  primeval  pines,  gigantic  boulders,  and  the  vista 
of  blue  sky  sighted  through  the  canon,  form  a  picture  of  strik- 
ing sublimity.  If  you  do  not  object  to  getting  wet  from  the 
mist  and  rain  created  by  the  cataract,  you  can  stand  on  a  great 
rock  in  the  whirling  pool  and  fish  for  trout  and  salmon,  with 
success,  for  hours.  The  cliff  on  the  right  can  be  scaled  by  a 
boy  or  man,  and  the  river  ascended  for  a  mile  to  Watson's  house 
on  the  road.  However,  before  reaching  the  road,  the  upper 
falls  are  to  be  passed.  Here  the  scene  is  different.  For  several 
hundred  feet  the  waters  pour  over  a  bare  mountain's  face,  whose 
slant  is  several  degrees  from  a  perpendicular.  At  its  base  the 
stream  widens  out,  for  there  are  no  cliffs  to  hem  it  in,  and  huge 
boulders  being  absent,  a  level,  little  lake  lies  buried  in  the 
forests.  A  fine  point  from  which  to  view  this  fall  is  half  way 
up  the  mountain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 

Fair  fishing  is  still  to  be  found  in  the  Cullasaja.  It  can  be 
reached  from  either  Franklin  or  Highlands.  In  a  beautiful  val- 
ley, close  by  the  bank  of  this  stream,  stands  the  homestead  of 
a  pioneer  settler  of  the  country,  Silas  McDowell.  It  is  only  a 
few  years  since  he  ended  his  pilgrimage.  In  his  old  age  he 
took  great  delight  in  narrating  his  early  experiences  in  the  wil- 
derness. The  first  trout  fishing  expedition  undertaken  by  him 
in  1839,  and  told  by  him  to  the  writer,  will  serve  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  what  the  primitive  angler  had  to  encounter. 


A  Pioneer  'fronting  Adventure,  133 

One  bright  morning,  he,  with  two  young  companions,  started 
up  the  Cullasaja.  As  a  matter  of  course,  they  had  excellent 
sport,  and  met  with  no  adventure,  until,  in  the  ravines  of  Lamb 
mountain,  a  magnificent,  antlered  buck,  startled  by  their 
sudden  appearance,  leaped  up  from  behind  a  cliff  and  started 
up  the  stream.  There  was  no  outlet  for  him  on  either  side,  for 
the  walls  of  the  gorge  are  perpendicular.  A  short  distance 
ahead,  a  cliff,  over  which  the  water  tumbled,  would  stop  his 
career.  They  had  no  guns  with  them,  and,  although  the  game 
was  securely  bagged,  their  only  way  to  kill  him  was  with  stones. 
They  pushed  on  pelting  him  with  these.  At  length,  maddened 
with  the  stoning,  the  old  stag  turned  and  rushed  by  them, 
breaking  the  narrator's  fishing  rod  as  he  passed.  Just  then  he 
fell  between  two  large  boulders,  and  one  of  the  young  men, 
springing  on  the  animal's  back,  soon  dispatched  him  with  his 
knife.  They  sank  the  carcass  in  the  cold,  rushing  water ;  fished 
until  noon,  catching  several  hundred  trout,  and  then  returned 
home  to  send  two  servants  with  a  pack-horse  after  the  game. 
The  return  of  the  servants  was  expected  that  evening,  but  it 
was  not  until  the  following  afternoon  that  they  appeared.  They 
related  that  they  had  found  the  deer,  but  it  was  dark  before 
they  were  ready  to  start.  Thinking  it  was  best  to  wait  for  the 
moon  to  rise,  they  placed  the  deer  on  a  large,  flat  rock  in  mid 
stream,  and  then  laid  down  beside  it  to  sleep  until  that  time. 
An  unusual  sound  awoke  them,  and  by  the  moonlight  they  saw 
an  immense  panther  crossing  the  foot-log  toward  them.  He 
had  scented  the  fresh  meat,  and  was  about  to  investigate,  but 
on  the  unexpected  awakening  of  two  human  beings,  he  fled,  as 
much  startled  as  they  were.  The  night  was  intensely  cold,  and 
finding  it  impossible  to  start,  and  also  being  afraid  of  wild  ani- 
mals along  the  lonely  way,  they  remained  on  the  rock  until  the 
sun  had  risen  and  warmed  their  numbed  bodies.  Thus  they 
accounted  for  their  long  absence. 


1 34  With  Rod  and  Line. 

A  few  miles  irom  Brevard,  the  headwaters  of  the  French 
Broad,  and  farther  south,  on  the  Jackson  county  side,  the  streams 
hidden  in  the  wilderness  of  the  Hog-back  and  emptying  into 
the  Toxaway,  and  the  head-waters  of  the  Chatooga,  can  be  rec- 
ommended to  the  followers  of  Isaak  Walton.  The  writer  does 
not  know  from  actual  experience  of  any  trout  inhabiting  the 
Linville  waters,  but  there  are  sign-boards  on  the  banks  prohibit- 
ing fishing. 

Close  on  the  Mitchell  and  Watauga  county  boundary,  is  the 
Elk  river,  a  famous  trout  stream.  The  best  approach  is  from 
Tennessee,  up  the  narrow-gauge  railroad,  through  Carter 
county,  to  the  Cranberry  mines.  From  the  old.  forge  to  Louis 
Banner's,  or  Bugger's,  the  distance  is  eight  miles.  The  road 
winds  upward  along  a  clear,  dark  stream,  rushing  over  light- 
colored  rocks.  Steep  mountain  sides,  heavy  with  wild,  brilliant 
forests,  darken  the  highway  with  their  shadows.  In  the  morn- 
ing and  evening,  the  woods  are  filled  with  melodious  birds. 
Logging  camps  are  numerous  in  this  neighborhood,  the  soli- 
tudes resounding  with  the  crash  of  falling  timbers  and  the  songs, 
or  more  likely  the  oaths,  of  the  lumbermen.  Besides  catching 
trout  in  the  Elk,  there  is  a  good  chance  for  killing  deer  along 
its  margin,  or  in  some  of  the  vast  hemlock  forests  in  which  the 
high  valleys  of  the  southwest  corner  of  Watauga  are  embos- 
omed. In  Ashe  county,  the  tributary  creeks  to  the  North  fork 
of  New  river  rise  amid  picturesque  mountains,  and  teem  with 
trout. 


AFTER  THE  ANTLERS. 


Rise  !  Sleep  no  more!   'Tis  a  noble  morn; 
The  dews  hang  thick  on  the  fringed  thorn, 
And  the  frost  shrinks  back,  like  a  beaten  hound, 
Under  the  steaming,  steaming  ground. 
Behold  where  the  billowy  clouds  flow  by, 
And  leave  us  alone  in  the  clear  gray  sky! 
Our  horses  are  ready  and  steady. — So,  ho! 
I'm  gone,  like  the  dart  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 
Hark!  Hark!     Who  calleth  tht  maiden  Mom 
From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the  stubble  corn? 

The  horn,— the  horn  / 
The  merry  sweet  ring  of  the  hunter  s  horn. 

— Barry  Cornwall. 

The  Smoky  chain,  whose  summit  bears 
the  long  boundary  line  of  North  Carolina 
and  Tennessee,  attains  its  culmination  be- 
tween the  deep,  picturesque  gaps  of  the 
French  Broad  and  Little  Tennessee,  and  is 
known  as  the  Great  Smoky  mountains. 
For  the  distance  of  sixty-five  miles  it 
forms  a  mighty  barrier,  affording,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Big  Pigeon,  no  passage-way  for  mountain 
waters,  and  broken,  except  toward  its  southern  end,  by  no  gaps 
less  than  5,000  feet  in  altitude.  Nineteen  peaks  of  over  6,000 
feet  in  altitude,  and  14  more  within  400  feet  of  these  figures, 
connected  by  massive  ridges  and  interspersed  by  peaks  but 


1 38  After  the  A  ntlers. 

little  lower  than  those  just  mentioned,  make  a  marked  cluster 
of  massive  mountains. 

Clingman's  dome,  6,660  feet  high,  the  most  elevated  summit 
in   the  range,  is  372   feet    higher   than   Mount   Washington    of 
the  White  Mountains,  and  only  47  feet  lower  than  the  loftiest 
peak  of  the  Appalachian  system.      From  its  dome-shaped  sum- 
mit, in  close  communion  with  the  clouds,   and  encircled  by  a 
dense  grove  of  balsams,  high  above  the  line  of  scrubby  oak  and 
beech,   and   higher  still  above  the   majestic   forests  of  cherry, 
locust,  chestnut  and  the  walnut,  which   clothe  its  lower  slopes, 
the  observer,  as  from  the  basket  of  a  balloon,  looks  down  upon 
a  varied  world  spread  wide  and   rolling  beneath  his  feet.      To 
the  north  lies  that  level  and  fertile  portion  of  East  Tennessee, 
watered  by  the  French   Broad  and  the  Holston.      Villages  dot 
the  plains ;  and,  afar,  the  crests  of  the  Cumberland   mountains 
and  their  spurs  form  with  the  transparent  sky  a  purple  horizon. 
On  the  other  hand,  the   lofty  heights  of  the   Bald,  Black,  Blue 
Ridge,  Balsam,  Cowee  and  Nantihala  ranges,  with  lapping  ends 
and    straggling    summits,  make    a    distant,   circling,   boundary 
line  to  a  central  ocean  of  rolling  mountains.      Directly  south, 
one  obtains  a  wide-spread  prospect  of  the  most  wild  and  pictur- 
esque portion  of  the  eastern  United  States — that  land  embraced 
by  the  counties  of  Swain  and  Macon — the  once  romantic  habita- 
tion and  hunting  ground  of  the  Cherokee   Nation.      Here  lies 
the  fertile  valley  of  the  upper  Little  Tennessee,  and  its  pictur- 
esque but  almost  uninhabited  lower  reaches  ;  the  emerald  green 
Ocona  Lufta  with  its  rich  lands  ;  the  Indian  reservation  on  the 
banks  of  the  Soco  ;   the  beautiful  Tuckasege,  and  the  narrow 
and  wildly  romantic  vale  down  which  courses  the  Nantihala. 

A  noticeable  feature  of  these  mountains  is  their  smooth,  bald 
summits  ;  not  a  sterile  baldness  like  that  of  ranges  higher  or  in 
more  rigorous  climates,  but  only  bald  as  far  as  concerns  the 
growth  of  trees  and  underwood.  Atmospheric  forces  have 


The  Heart  of  the  Smokies.  1 39 

played  their  parts  on  the  pinnacles.  What  once  must  nave  been 
sharp  crowns  of  rock,  have,  with  time,  storm,  and  frost,  become 
rounded  hillocks.  Due,  perhaps  to  the  sweeping  winds,  the 
dense  balsam  forests — the  characteristic  tree  of  the  loftier 
heights  of  the  Smoky,  Black,  Balsam  and  Blue  Ridge — stop 
around  the  brows  of  the  extreme  tops,  leaving,  oftentimes,  per- 
fectly level  tracts  of  treeless  land,  in  some  instances  of  1,000 
acres  in  extent.  The  soil  is  a  black  loam.  A  heavy  sward, 
green,  even  in  winter,  covers  these  meadows.  On  them,  around 
occasionally  exposed  surfaces  of  rock,  the  scarlet,  blossom-bear- 
ing rhododendron,  and  clumps  of  heather,  similar  to  that  on  the 
Scottish  hills,  are  found.  Every  spring,  thousands  of  cattle, 
branded,  and  sometimes  'hung  with  bells,  are  turned  out  on 
these  upland  pastures.  It  is  an  unequalled  grazing  land. 
Water  wells  forth  even  from  the  extreme  higher  edges  of  the 
forests,  and  on  every  slope  are  crystal  streams. 

The  same  striking  difference,  between  the  slopes  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  is  seen  in  the  Great  Smoky  mountains.  On  the  Ten- 
nessee side,  the  soil  is  sterile,  in  comparison  with  the  North 
Carolina  side.  Bare,  rocky  faces  are  exposed  to  a  stronger 
sun-light ;  the  streams  flow  through  slaty  channels,  heaped  with 
gigantic  boulders,  and  -a  sultry  air  pervades  at  the  mountains' 
base  ;  still,  flourishing  forests  cover  the  winding  hollows,  seclud- 
ed coves,  and  even  the  craggy  heights.  One  notable  mountain 
cluster,  the  Chimneys,  terminate  in  sharp,  thin  spurs  of  rock, 
differing  in  this  particular  from  all  the  peaks  of  the  Alleghanies 
south. 

The  North  Carolina  side  is  a  luxuriant  wilderness,  where,  not 
content  with  spreading  .overhead  an  unbroken  roof  of  branches, 
brilliant  with  a  foliage  Mke  that  of  tropical  forests,  Nature  has 
carpeted  the  ground  with  mosses  and  grasses,  and  planted  in 
vast  tracts  impenetrable  tangles  of  the  rhododendron  and 
kalmia.  These  tangles  are  locally  called  "  Hells,"  with  a 


1 40  After  the  A  ntlcrs. 

proper  noun  possessive  in  remembrance  of  poor  unfortunates 
lost  in  their  mazes.  There  is  no  better  timbered  country  in  the 
United  States.  The  wild  cherry,  of  large  growth,  is  found  here 
in  abundance,  and  other  hard  woods  of  a  temperate  clime  at- 
tain majestic  heights.  The  arrowy  balsam  shoots  up  to  150 
feet,  and  the  mast-like  cucumber  tree  dangles  it  red  fruit  high 
above  the  common  forest  top. 

The  valleys  are  cleared  and  filled  with  the  pleasant  homes  of 
hardy  mountaineers.  These  farms,  to  the  careless  observer,  ap- 
pear to  be  the  only  marks  of  civilized  life  on  the  Smokies  ;  but 
high  above  the  main  traveled  roads,  amid  vast  forest  solitudes, 
beside  small  mountain  streams,  and  in  rich  coves  under  shelter- 
ing ridges,  are  located  many  quiet  cabins  with  no  approach  ex- 
cept by  trail  ways  and  known  only  to  the  tax-collector  and 
cattle-herder. 

Some  of  these  trails,  or  poorly-worked  roads  lead  the  un- 
suspecting tourist  into  thickly-settled  localities.  Such  a  surprise 
awaits  him  if,  at  the  canon  of  the  Cataluche,  he  leaves  the 
highway  leading  from  Haywood  county  to  Knoxville.  It  is  the 
most  picturesque  valley  of  the  Great  Smoky  range.  The 
mountains  are  timbered,  but  precipitous  ;  the  narrow,  level  lands 
between  are  fertile  ;  farm  houses  look  upon  a  rambling  road, 
and  a  creek,  noted  as  a  prolific  trout  stream,  runs  a  devious 
course  through  hemlock  forests,  around  romantic  cliffs,  and  be- 
tween laureled  banks. 

But,  to  the  observer  from  Clingman's  Dome,  the  clearings  on 
the  slopes  of  the  Smokies  are  hidden  from  the  eye.  On  all 
sides  stretch  wild,  black  forests,  funereal  in  their  aspect,  wakened 
only  by  the  cry  of  the  raven,  or  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  of  some 
animal  lost  in  their  labyrinths.  The  great  wildernesses  of  the 
deciduous  trees  lie  below,  mantling  the  ridges  and  hollows.  In 
vain  the  eye  endeavors-to  mark  their  limit :  it  is  blanked  by  the 
misty  purple  into  which  the  green  resolves  itself.  Here,  for  the 


Mounted  Sportsmen.  141 

bear,  deer,  wolf,  and  panther,  appears  the  natural  home.  No- 
where is  there  a  more  perfect  roaming  ground  for  these  ani- 
mals ;  but  the  hound,  rifle,  and  trap,  brought  into  active  use 
by  the  Indians  and  mountaineers,  have  greatly  thinned  out  the 
game ;  still,  no  better  hunting  is  to  be  found  east  of  the 
Mississippi. 

Swain  county,  along  the  Graham  county  line,  appeared  the 
least  inhabited  section ;  and  when,  in  the  early  part  of  October, 
we  contemplated  a  deer  drive,  the  above  information  regarding 
the  skirts  of  the  Great  Smokies  tended  to  drift  us  down  the  Lit- 
tle Tennessee.  Our  approach  lay  from  that  point  in  Haywood 
county  which  was  then  the  terminus  of  the  Western  North 
Carolina  Railroad,  via  Waynesville,  Webster,  and  Charleston. 
We  were  mounted  on  stout  horses,  and  were  dressed  in  a  man- 
ner anything  but  conspicuous  ;  still,  a  party  of  four  men,  each 
with  a  Remington  rifle  or  a  breech-loading  shot-gun,  strapped 
for  easy  .carrying  across  his  back,  forms  a  cavalcade  of  striking 
interest  to  denizens  of  mountain  ways  and  the  citizens  of  quiet 
villages. 

Had  we  paid  any  attention  to  the  opinion  that,  in  the  wilder- 
ness, we  would  be  taken  for  revenue  officers,  and,  as  such,  shot 
on  sight  by  blockaders,  we  would  have  ridden  uneasily.  There 
is  bravery  in  numbers,  and  then  we  knew  better  than  to  give 
countenance  to  such  fears.  Blockading,  or  "moonshining"  as  it  is 
sometimes  called,  because  the  distiller  works  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  is  not  as  prevalent  in  these  mountains  as  is  generally 
supposed ;  and,  besides,  it  is  growing  less  with  every  year. 
That  an  unobstrusive  stranger  stands  in  danger  of  being  shot 
down  by  a  blockader  on  suspicion  of  any  kind,  is  a  bug  bear,  in 
spite  of  its  prevalence,  almost  too  absurd  for  consideration. 
For  the  commission  of  a  crime  of  this  nature,  it  would  take  a 
strange  combination  of  circumstances :  a  distiller  with  a  murder- 
ous cast  of  mind ;  a  tourist  representing  himself  to  be  a  United 


142  After  the  Antlers.          » 

States  officer,  and  the  presence  of  an  illicit  still.  Now,  the 
blockader,  like  the  majority  of  drinking  men,  is  a  good-natured 
fellow,  who,  while  he  deems  himself  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  confounds  natural  with  civil  liberty,  and  believes  he  has 
the  right  to  manufacture,  drink  and  sell  whisky  in  whatever 
manner  he  pleases  so  long  as  he  does  not  interfere  with  the 
private  rights  of  his  neighbors.  The  tourist  is  generally  a  volu- 
ble fellow,  anxious  to  make  friends  as  he  travels,  and  showing 
stronger  inclination  to  have  his  bottle  filled  than  to  burst  copper 
boilers  or  smash  any  barrels  of  mash.  The  still  is  hidden  in 
retreats  where  a  stranger  would  be  as  likely  to  stumble  upon  it 
as  he  would  to  finding  the  philosopher's  stone. 

The  tourist,  traveling  the  lonely  mountain  highways,  need 
have  no  fears  as  to  the  safety  of*  his  person  or  his  pocket.  It 
is  true  that  murder  cases  are  often  on  the  county  dockets,  but 
these  are  the  results  of  heated  blood,  and  not  of  cupidity. 
Honesty  is  a  strong  trait  of  the  mountain  people. 

Charleston,  the  county-seat  of  Swain, — a  pleasant  little  vil- 
lage, whose  existence  dates  only  from  the  formation  of  the 
county  in  1871, — is  situated  by  the  Tuckasege  river,  and  at  the 
foot  of  Rich  mountain.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  a  new  country. 
The  two  most  conspicuous  buildings,  standing  directly  opposite 
each  other  at  one  end  of  the  village  street,  are  the  new  and  old 
court-houses.  The  former  is  a  substantial  brick  structure, 
likened  by  a  wag,  who  draws  his  comparisons  from  homely  ob- 
servations, to  the  giant  hopper  of  a  mill,  turned  upside  down. 
The  old,  frame  court-house  has  its  upper  story  used  as  a  grand 
jury  room,  and  its  lower  floor,  as  formerly,  holds  the  jail.  The 
dark  interior  of  the  ''cage,"  used  for  petty  misdoers,  can  be 
seen  under  the  front  outside  stairs,  through  a  door  with  barred 
window.  An  apartment  fitted  up  for  the  jailer  is  on  the  same 
floor,  and,  by  a  spiked,  open  slit,  about  six  inches  by  two  feet 
in  dimensions,  is  connected  with  the  "dungeon."  For  its  pe- 


The  Charleston  Dungeon.  143 

culiar  purposes  this  dungeon  is  built  on  a  most  approved  pattern. 
It  is  a  log  room  within  a  log  room,  the  space  between  the  log 
walls  being  filled  up  with  rocks.  It  is  wholly  inside  the  frame 
building.  Besides  the  opening  where  the  jailer  may  occa- 
sionally peek  in,  is  another  one,  similar  to  that  described,  where 
a  few  pale  rays  of  daylight  or  moonlight,  as  the  case  may  be, 
can,  by  struggling,  filter  through  clapboards,  two  log  walls, 
spikes,  and  rocks,  to  the  gloomy  interior.  A  pad-locked  trap- 
door in  the  floor  above  is  the  only  entrance.  The  daily  rations 
for  ye  solitary  culprit,  like  all  our  blessings,  come  from  above 
—through  the  trap-door.  Here,  suspected  unfortunates  of  a 
desperate  stripe  awaiting  trial,  and  convicted  criminals,  biding 
their  day  of  departure  for  the  penitentiary  or  gallows,  are  con- 
fined in  dismal  twilight,  and  in  turn  are  raised  by  a  summons 
from  above,  and  a  ladder  cautiously  lowered  through  the  open- 
ing in  the  floor.  This  invitation  to  clamber  is  always  responded 
to  with  alacrity  by  the  occupant  below.  As  Swain  county  is 
particularly  fortunate  in  having  few  crimes  committed  within  its 
borders  which  call  for  capital  or  very  vindictory  and  exemplary 
punishment,  the  dungeon  is  seldom  put  in  use. 

Along  the  main  thoroughfare,  and  on  the  few  side  streets, 
are  neat  white  dwellings ;  well-stocked  stores,  where  a  man  can 
buy  anything  from  a  needle  to  an  axe  ;  and  two  good  village 
hotels.  Like  all  communities,  they  have  churches  here,  and 
possibly  (for  the  writer  does  not  speak  on  this  point  from  ob- 
servation) on  some  grassy  knoll,  under  the  silence  and  shadows 
of  noble  forest  monarchs,  may  be  found  a  few  head-marked 
graves  forming  the  village  cemetery. 

The  post-office  is  a  good  place,  at  the  arrival  of  the  mail- 
horse,  to  survey  and  count  the  male  population  of  Charleston  ; 
or,  after  papers  and  letters  are  distributed,  to  meet,  in  the 
person  of  Postmaster  Collins,  an  intelligent  man  who  will 
vouchsafe  all  information  desired  on  matters  of  local  and  county 


144  After  the  Antlers. 

interest.  In  the  middle  of  the  day,  you  can  sit  on  the  counter 
in  any  of  the  stores  and  discuss  politics  or  religion  with  the 
merchant,  who,  in  his  shirtsleeves,  and  perched  on  a  pile  of 
muslins  and  calicoes  with  his  feet  on  a  coal-oil  barrel,  smokes  a 
pipe  of  home-cured  tobacco,  and  keeps  his  eyes  alternately  on 
the  ceiling  and  the  road,  as  though  expectant  along  the  latter 
for  the  white  or  Indian  customer. 

Here  we  heard  how  a  few  years  since  a  deer  was  hounded 
into  the  river,  and  then  in  deep  water  was  easily  lassoed  by  a 
native,  towed  to  shore,  and,  rendered  docile  through  fright,  was 
led  like  a  lamb  through  the  village  street.  This  story  height- 
ened our  ardor  to  be  on  the  hunt;  so,  leaving  the  village 
early  on  a  foggy  morning,  we  that  day  accomplished  thirty- 
five  miles  of  travel  and  arrived  at  our  destined  quarters  on  the 
height  of  the  Smoky  mountains. 

The  character  of  a  river  can  not  be  known  by  a  single  view 
of  its  waters.  One  must  follow  it  for  miles  to  know  its  peculi- 
arities, and  wherein  its  picturesqueness  differs  from  other 
streams.  The  mountain  rivers  are  admirably  suited  for  investi- 
gations of  this  nature.  The  levelest  and  oftentimes  the  only 
accessible  way  for  a  road  is  close  along  the  streams.  The  Lit- 
tle Tennessee  is,  through  many  of  its  stretches,  looked  down 
upon  from  winding  highways  ;  but  it  is  not  until  the  traveler 
leaves  Charleston  and  strikes  the  banks  some  few  miles  below, 
that  the  grandeur  of  its  scenery  is  manifest.  Here  begins  the 
close  companionship  between  river  and  road,  that  is  not  broken 
until  by  the  impetuous  waters  the  heart  of  the  Smoky  moun- 
tains is  cut  asunder. 

The  scenery  is  similar  to  the  French  Broad,  but  the  scale  is 
considerably  enlarged.  There  is  a  greater  volume  of  water, 
and  a  wider  reach  between  the  banks ;  the  mountains,  whose 
wood-adorned  fronts  rise  from  the  sounding  edge  of  the  cur- 
rent, are  loftier  in  height,  and  in  some  places,  like  that  before 


An  Evening  Scene.  145 

the  farm  house  of  Albert  Welsh,  present  a  distinctive  feature 
in  their  steep,  rocky  faces.  In  the  vicinity  of  the  mouth  of  the 
Tuckasege,  some  charming  pictures  are  to  be  found.  Take  it  at 
the  hour  preceding  an  October  sunset,  when  the  shadows  thrown 
by  wall  and  forest  lie  dark  and  heavy  on  the  slopes  and  levels ; 
when  the  sunlight  is  strong,  and  an  evening  serenity  pervades 
the  scene :  the  steep  mountains  flame  with  the  gorgeous  col- 
oring of  autumn,  mingled  with  the  changeless  green  of  the 
pines;  crimson  vines  gleam  in  the  sunlight  smiting  the  cliffs 
which  they  festoon  ;  and,  in  shadow,  at  the  feet  of  the  moun- 
tains, "  like  some  grave,  mighty  thought  threading  a  dream/' 
glides  the  silent  river. 

Occasionally,  the  stream  makes  a  long, 
[straight  sweep;  then  again,  abrupt  bends 
throw  it  in  zigzag  course.  A  few  flocks  of 
teal  and  wood  ducks,  apparently  even 
wilder  than  when  in  marsh-water,  rose  oc- 
casionally from  placid  faces  of  the  river. 
They  were  out  of  gun-shot  at  the  start, 
and  before  settling,  never  failed  to  put  the 
next  lower  bend  between  them  and  their 
disturbers.  The  mountains  so  encroach  on 
the  river  that  little  arable  land  is  afforded  ; 
houses  are  consequently  far  apart,  in  some 
places  five  miles  of  road  being  devoid  of  a 
clearing. 

Eagle  creek  rises  in  Ecanetle  gap.  A 
narrow  trail  winds  on  the  wild  banks  along 
its  waters.  At  its  mouth  we  turned  from 
the  Little  Tennessee,  and  for  ten  miles  pur- 
sued this  trail  without  passing  a  house. 
The  forest  was  lifeless  and  unbroken 
throughout.  Twilight  came  as  we  traveled, 


ON   THK   LITTLE   TENNESEK 


146  After  the  Antlers. 

and  just  after  it  became  dark  enough  to  see  a  phosphorescent 
log  that  glowed,  like  a  bed  of  burning  lime,  across  our  path, 
through  the  laurel  appeared  a  vista  of  cleared  land  embosomed 
in  a  dark  forest.  The  starlight  revealed  it.  In  the  center 
stood  a  double  log  house,  with  a  mud-daubed  stone  chimney  at 
each  low  gable,  above  which  flying  sparks  made  visible  a  col- 
umn of  smoke.  The  two  doors  were  open,  and  through  these 
streamed  the  lights  from  the  fire-places.  No  windows  marred 
the  structure  ;  but  chinks,  through  which  one  might  easily  stick 
his  rifle  to  blaze  away  at  a  wild  turkey  in  the  corn  field,  or  at  a 
revenue  officer  beyond  the  fence,  made  the  exterior  of  the  hut 
radiant  with  their  filtration  of  light.  Several  low  outbuildings 
were  in  the  enclosure. 

As  Sanford's  horse  struck  against  an  intact  row  of  bars  which 
closed  the  trail,  the  savage  yelping  of  a  body  of  unseen  dogs 
startled  the  quiet  of  the  scene.  In  an  instant  a  bare-headed 
woman,  with  a  pan  in  her  hand,  appeared  at  one  door,  and  at 
the  other  a  bushy-headed  man  leaned  outward. 

"How  are  you?"  yelled  Sanford.  "Do  Jake  and  Quil  Rose 
live  here?" 

"Shet  up,  ye  hounds,  ye!"  addressing  his  dogs;  then  to 
us,  "I  reckon  they  do.  Who  be  you  uns?" 

By  that  time  both  doors  were  crowded  with  young  and  old 
heads,  and  two  men  came  toward  us.  After  a  parley,  in  which 
we  explained  who  we  were,  and  the  object  of  our  visit,  the  bars 
rattled  down,  our  horses  stepped  after  each  other  into  the  clear- 
ing, and  in  succession  we  grasped  the  hands  of  the  Rose 
brothers. 

"  Ef  yer  hunters,"  said  one,  "we're  only  too  glad  to  see 
ye  ;  but  at  fust  we  didn't  know  whether  ye  war  gentlemen  or  a 
sheriffs  posse,  the  road-boss  or  revenue  galoots.  Now  lite,  go 
to  the  house,  and  take  cheers  while  we  stable  the  nags." 

As  directed,  we  entered  one  of  the  two  rooms  of  the  cabin, 


Interior  of  a  Log  Cabin.  147 

leaving  behind  us  the  night,  the  quieted  dogs  and  the  October 
chill  that  comes  with  the  darkness.  A  hot  log  fire,  leaping  in 
the  chimney  place,  around  which  were  ranged  four  children  and 
a  woman  preparing  supper,  threw  on  the  walls  the  fantastic 
shadows  of  the  group,  and  enabled  us  to  mark  every  object  of 
the  interior.  On  the  scoured  puncheon  floor  furtherest  from 
the  chimney,  were  three  rough  bed-steads,  high  with  feather 
ticks  and  torn  blankets.  Against  the  walls  above  the  bed- 
steads were  long  lines  of  dresses,  petticoats  and  other  clothing. 
No  framed  pictures  adorned  the  smoky  logs,  but  plastered  all 
over  the  end  where  rose  the  chimney,  was  an  assortment  of 
startling  illustrations  cut  from  Harper's  Weeklies,  Police  Gazet- 
tes, and  almanacs,  of  dates  (if  judged  by  their  yellowness) 
before  the  war.  A  few  cooking  implements  hung  against  the 
chimney.  Over  half  the  room  reached  a  loft,  where  one  might 
imagine  was  stored  the  copper  boiler  and  other  apparatus  of  a 
still,  slowly  corroding  through  that  season  immediately  preced- 
ing the  hardening  and  gathering  in  of  the  corn.  A  table,  with 
clean  spread  on  it,  and  set  with  sweet  potatoes,  corn-dodger, 
butter  and  coffee,  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room.  At  this 
board,  on  the  invitation  of  the  brother  known  as  Quil,  we  seated 
ourselves  to  a  repast,  rude  to  be  sure,  but  made  delicious  to  us 
from  a  long  day's  travel.  The  wife  of  the  mountaineer,  as  if 
out  of  respect  to  her  visitors,  and  following  a  singular  custom, 
had  donned  her  bonnet  on  sight  of  us ;  and,  keeping  it  on  her 
head,  poured  out  the  coffee  in  silence,  and,  although  seated, 
partook  of  no  food  until  we  had  finished. 

In  the  lines  preceding  these,  and  in  those  which  immediately 
follow,  the  writer  has  attempted  to  present  to  the  reader  a  true 
picture  of  an  extreme  type  of  mountain  life, — that  of  a  class 
of  people,  hidden  in  mountain  fastnesses,  who,  uneducated  and 
unambitious,  depend  for  scanty  subsistence  upon  the  crops  of 
cramped  clearings  and  the  profits  of  the  chase.  Their  state  of 


148  After  the  Antlers. 

perfect  contentment  is   not  the  singular,   but  natural   result  of 
such  an  uncheckered  existence. 

The  Rose  brothers,  are  known  as  men  good-natured,  but  of 
desperate  character  when  aroused.  They  have  been  blockaders. 
Living  outside  of  school  districts,  and  seemingly  of  all  State 
protection,  they  refuse  to  pay  any  taxes ;  having  only  a  trail- 
way  to  their  door,  they  pay  no  attention  to  notices  for  working 
the  county  roads.  Thus  recognizing  no  authority,  they  live  in 
a  pure  state  of  natural  liberty,  depending  for  its  continuance 
upon  their  own  strength  and  daring,  the  fears  of  county  officers, 
the  seclusion  of  their  home,  and  their  proximity  to  the  Tennes- 
see line.  Only  one  and  a  half  mile  of  mountain  ascent  is  re- 
quired to  place  them  beyond  the  pursuit  of  State  authorities. 
One  of  them  once  killed  his  man,  in  Swain  county,  and  to  this 
day  he  has  escaped  trial.  They  are  men  of  fine  features  and 
physique.  Both  wear  full,. dark  beards;  long,  black  hair ;  slouch 
hats;  blue  hunting  shirts,  uncovered  by  coats  or  vests,  and 
belted  with  a  strap  holding  their  pantaloons  in  place.  High 
boots,  with  exposed  tops,  cover  their  feet  and  lower  limbs.  They 
are  tall  and  broad-shouldered.  Thus  featured,  figured,  and  ac- 
coutered,  they  appeared  to  our  party. 

All  the  children  had  been  ^covered  with  feather  beds,  when 
we  six  men  and  two  women  formed  a  wide  circle  before  the  fire 
that  evening.  Naturally,  our  conversation  was  on  hunting,  and 
Kenswick  opened  the  ball  by  inquiring  about  the  state  of  deer 
hunting. 

"We  allers  spring  a  deer  when  we  drive,"  responded  Jake. 

"Do  you  never  fail?" 

"Never;  but  sometimes  we  miss  killin'  'im." 

"They  must  be  thick  around  here,"  remarked  Sanford. 

"Not  so  powerful.  Why,  just  a  few  ye'r  ago,  Brit  May- 
ner  killed  nine  in  one  day.  He  couldn't  do  hit  now." 

"Why?" 


A  Wolf  Story.  149 

Gittin'  source  ;  every  man  on  the  Smokies  owns  dogs,  an' 
they're  bein'  hounded  to  death." 

"  How  about  bears?  "  asked  Kenswick. 

"Gittin'  source,  too.  We  generally  kill  eight  or  ten  now  in 
the  season  agin  twenty  a  short  time  back." 

"When  is  the  best  season  for  bear,"  began  Kenswick,  but 
Sanford,  who  had  stepped  to  the  door,  interrupted  him. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "let  information  about  bears  rest  until  we 
hunt  for  them,  and  let  me  ask  if  that  is  a  wolf  I  hear  howling. 
Listen  !  " 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  Kenswick,  "it  does  sound  rather 
wolfish." 

"Hit's  one,  shore  enough,"  returned  Quil.  "  Wre  hear  'em 
every  winter  night  from  the  door." 

"They  must  do  damage  to  your  sheep." 

"  Reckon  they  do ;  but  not  much  worser  'en  dogs." 

"  How  do  you  destroy  them?" 

"Trap  sem,  an'  shoot  'em." 

"Will  they  fight  a  pack  of  hounds  well?" 

' '  Prime  fighters,  you  bet !  But,  dog  my  skin,  I  got  the  holt 
on  one  the  other  day  that  he  did  n'.t  shake  off!" 

"  Hold  of  one!   How  was  that  ?-"  two  of  us  asked  together. 

Jake  threw  a  rich  pine  knot  on  the  fire;  Kenswick  ceased 
puffing  his  pipe  for  an  instant ;  Sanford  came  from  the  door,  and, 
leaning  against  the  chimney,  stuck  one  of  his  feet  toward  the 
blaze ;  Mrs.  Jake  Rose  with  her  sister-in-law  exchanged  com- 
pliments in  the  shape  of  a  tin  snuff  box,  in  which  the  latter 
dipped  a  chewed  birch  stick  and  then  rubbed  her  teeth  ;  and 
Quil  began : 

'  *  This  day  war  four  weeks  ago  when  I  went  down  on  Forney 
creek  to  see  Boodly  about  swoppin'  our  brindled  cow-brute  fer 
his  shpats,  want  hit?"  nodding  to  his  wife. 

She  nodded. 


1 50  After  the  Antlers. 

"Wai,  I  hed  my  rifle-gun  an'  the  dogs  fer  company,  countin' 
on  gittin  a  crack  at  some  varmint  along  the  way.  On  Bear 
creek,  the  dogs  trottin'  by  my  side  got  ter  snuffin'  in  the  rocks 
an' weeds,  an'  all  o'^a  sudden,  barking  like  mad,  broke  hell- 
bent through  the  laurel  and  stopped  right  squar'  at  the  branch. 
Thar  was  cliffs  thar,  and  the  water,  arter  slidin'  down  shelvin1 
rocks  fer  a  piece,  poured  over  a  steep  pitch.  I  clumpt  hit  up 
an'  down  the  bank,  lookin'  sharp  fer  deer-signs,  but  seed 
nuthin.  Then  thinks  me  ter  myself,  I'll  cross  the  stream,  an' 
call  the  dogs  over.  The  nighest  way  to  cross  war  across  the 
shelvin'  rock  above  the  fall.  I  waded  in  thar.  Do  ye  know, 
the  blamed  thing  was  so  slick  and  slimy  that  my  feet  slipped, 
an'  I  cum  down  ker  splash  in  the  waters.  I  tried  to  clutch  the 
rocks,  but  could  n't,  an'  as  quick  as  ye  can  bat  yer  eyes,  over 
the  short  fall  I  went,  strikin'  bottom  on  sumthin' soft  an'  ha'ry." 

"A  wolf?"  some  one  asked. 

"Yes,  dog  my  skin!  Hit  was  the  dry  nest  of  a  master 
old  varmint  under  thet  fall.  He  war  as  fat  as  a  bar  jist  shufflin' 
out  o'  winter  quarters,  an'  he  only  hed  three  legs.  One  gone 
at  the  knee.  Chawed  hit  off,  I  reckon,  to  get  shet  o'  a  trap." 

"What,  will  they  eat  off  the  leg  that  is  fastened  to  free  them- 
selves from  a  trap  ?  "  asked  Kenswick,  excitedly. 

"In  course  they  will,  an'  so'll  a  bar,"  continued  Quil.  "  But 
I  didn't  find  this  all  out  until  arterwards.  Thar  I  war  astraddle 
o'  thet  varmint's  back,  an'  my  fingers  in  the  ha'r  o'  his  neck." 

"That's  a  pretty  stiff  story,  Quil,"   remarked  Sanford. 

"Stiff  or  not,  hits  the  truth,  so    help  me  Gineral  Jackson!" 

"Go  on,  go  on! " 

"Wai,  the  wolf  snarled  and  struggled  like  mad,  but  I  hed 
the  holt  on  'im.  I  didn't  dar'  to  loose  my  holt  ter  git  my 
knife,  so  I  bent  'im  down  with  my  weight,  and,  gittin'  his  head 
in  the  water,  I  drowned  'im  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  I  toted 
and  drugged  'im  out  to  the  dogs." 


Like  a  Jack-in-tlic-Box.  151 

"Was  it  an  old  sheep  killer?"   I  asked. 

"Thet's  jist  what  he  war.  He  hed  been  livin'  nigh  the  set- 
tlement fer  months,  till  he  war  too  fat  ter  fight  well." 

Quil's  story  was  a  true  one,  with  the  exception  that  in  the 
narration  he  had  taken  the  place  of  the  actual  hunter.  After  it 
was  finished,  conversation  lagged,  and  hanging  our  coats  for 
screens  over  the  backs  of  chairs,  we  jumped  upon  and  sank 
from  sight  into  the  feather  beds. 

Early  the  following  morning,  some  little  time  before  daylight 
had  sifted  through  the  chinks  of  the  cabin,  when  all  out-doors 
was  wrapped  in  the  gloom  of  night,  and  but  one  premature 
cock-crow  had  sounded  in  my  ears,  I  heard  the  feet  of  the  occu- 
pant of  an  adjoining  bed  strike  flat  on  the  floor,  followed  by  the 
noise  of  thrusting -of  legs  into  pantaloons.  Then  there  was  a 
noise  at  the  chimney-place,  and  soon  a  fire  was  in  full  blaze, 
crackling  and  snapping  in  a  spiteful  way,  as  it  warmed  and  filled 
tie  room  with  its  glow.  As  soon  as  this  light  became  strong 
eiough,  and  I  was  sufficiently  aroused  to  distinguish  objects 
a'uout  me,  I  saw  that  Quil  Rose  was  up  and  stirring ;  and,  a 
rrinute  after,  I  perceived  the  white,  night-capped  head  of  the 
lady  of  the  house  shoot,  like  a  jack-in-the-box,  up  above  the 
bed-clothes.  I  thought  of  Pickwick  and  the  lady  in  curl-papers, 
sc  I  laid  quiet.  It  is  curious  in  what  a  short  space  of  time  a 
mountain  woman  will  make  her  toilet ;  for  that  covered  head 
hid  not  appeared  above  the  bed  more  than  one  minute  before 
Mrs.  Rose  was  in  morning  dress  complete,  even  to  her  shoes  ; 
ard  quietly  rolling  up  her  sleeves,  was  making  active  prepara- 
tions for  an  early  breakfast. 

Corn-meal,  water,  and  salt  were  soon  stirred  up  for  the  dodger ; 
tre  small,  round  skillet  with  cover  (Dutch  oven  they  call  it)  was 
stt  over  a  bed  of  coals ;  the  tea-kettle  was  singing  on  the  fire, 
aid  some  chunks  of  venison  boiling  in  the  pot. 

While  Mrs.  Rose  was  thus  engaged,  one  by    one    we    began 


152  After  the  Antlers. 

crawling  out,  but  not  before  Quil  had  come  to  my  bed,  stooped 
down  at  the  head,  thrust  his  hand  under,  and  lo !  by  the  light 
of  the  snapping  logs,  we  saw  him  draw  forth  a  gallon  jug  with- 
out a  handle. 

"  I  reckon  we'll  have  a  dram  afore  breakfast,"  said  he,  with  a 
jolly  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  smack  of  his  lips,  as  he  poured  out 
a  glass  of  liquor  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  handed  it  around. 

"  Hit  costs  us  jist  one  dollar  a  gallon,  an'  I'll  'low  hit's  as 
pure  as  mounting  dew,"  remarked  the  head  of  the  family,  as 
he  drained  off  a  four-finger  drink. 

By  the  time  we  were  dressed,  breakfast  was  ready,  and  we 
moved  around  the  neatly-spread  table.  Coffee  and  buttermilk 
were  poured  ;  the  corn  dodger  was  broken  by  our  fingers,  and 
these,  together  with  stewed-apples  and  venison  made  up  our 
morning's  repast. 

"The  sooner  we're  off  now,  the  better,"  said  Quil,  as  he  tool 
down  his  rifle  from  the  buck-prongs  fastened  in  the  cabin  wall 
and  drew  his  bullet-pouch  and  powder-horn  over  his  heai 
and  arm. 

We  stepped  from  the  cabin's  door  into  the  gray  light  of  tte 
morning.  The  peaks  of  the  Smoky,  through  which  wines 
Ecanetle  gap,  were  black  in  shade,  while  the  jagged  rim  *f 
mountains,  toward  the  east,  was  tipped  with  fire,  and  abo\ie 
was  an  azure  sky  without  a  speck  of  cloud  upon  its  face.  Bi- 
low  us,  as  seen  from  the  edge  of  the  rail  fence,  looking  far  dowi 
across  red  and  yellow  forests,  the  fogs  of  the  lower  valleys,  It- 
ing  along  the  stream,  appeared  like  great  rivers  of  molten  silver. 
This  effect  was  caused  by  the  sunlight  streaming  through  tie 
gaps  of  the  mountains,  upon  the  dense  masses  of  vapor.  Tlie 
glory  was  beyond  description. 

The  kindled  Morn,  on  joyous  breezes  borne, 
Breathed  balmy  incense  on  the  mountains  torn 

And  tumbled ;  dreamy  valleys  rolled 

In  Autumn's  glowing  garments  far 


The  Footprints  of  Autumn.  153 

Below;  and  cascades  thundered 
Sparkling  down  the  cedared  cliff's  bold 
Faces:  peaks  perpendicular 
Shot  up  with  summits  widely  sundered. 

The  best  time  to  visit  this  country  is  in  October.  The  tourist 
who,  after  several  months'  sojourn  among  the  mountains,  leaves 
for  his  lowland  home,  loses,  by  only  a  few  weeks,  the  most 
pleasant  season  of  the  year.  In  this  month  is  fully  realized  the 
truth  of  Shelley's  words  : 

' '  There  is  a  harmony 
In  autumn  and  a  lustre  in  its  sky, 
Which  through  the  summer  is  not  heard  nor  seen, 
As  if  it  could  not  be,  as  if  it  had  not  been  !  " 

The  skies  are  intensely  blue,  seldom  streaked  with  clouds, 
and  the  rain-fall  is  the  least  of  the  year.  The  atmosphere  is  free 
from  the  haze,  that  through  a  great  part  of  the  summer  pervad- 
ing the  a*ir,  renders  the  view  less  extended.  In  it  one  can  dis- 
tinguish tree-top  from  tree-top  on  the  heights  thousands  of  feet 
above  him ;  and  the  most  distant  mountains  are  brought  out  in 
bold  relief  against  the  sky.  The  days  are  mild  and  temperate. 

Then  it  is  that  Autumn  begins  to  tint  the  woodlands.  Strange 
to  say,  although  the  forests  on  the  summits  are  the  last  to  bud 
and  leaf  in  the  spring,  their  foliage  is  the  first  scattered  under- 
foot. Along  the  extreme  heights  on  the  northern  slopes,  the 
foot-prints  of  Autumn  are  first  perceived.  This  is  not  because 
of  stronger  sunlight  or  deeper  shade,  but  is  due  to  the  difference 
of  forest  growth  between  the  north  and  south  sides  of  the 
ranges.  She  earliest  changes  to  a  dull  russet  and  bright  yel- 
low the  upland  groves  of  buckeye  and  linn,  above  whose  margin 
the  balsams  remain  darker  and  gloomier  by  the  contrast ;  and 
touches  into  scarlet  flame  the  foliage  of  the  sugar-maple  scat- 
tered widely  apart  amid  the  the  sturdier  trees. 

As  the  days  go  by,  in  the  valleys  the  buckeye  drops  its 
leaves ;  the  black-gum,  festooned  by  the  old  gold  leaves  of  the 
wild  grape,  gleams  crimson  against  the  still  green  poplars ;  the 


154  After  the  Antlers. 

hickory  turns  to  a  brilliant  yellow  amid  the  red  of  the  oaks;  of 
a  richer  red  appears  the  sour-wood ;  the  slender  box  elder,  with 
yellow  leaves  and  pods,  shivers  above  the  streams;  the  chest- 
nut burrs  begin  to  open  and  drop  their  nuts ;  acorns  are  rattling 
down  through  the  oak  leaves,  while  on  the  hill-sides  from  the 
top  of  his  favorite  log,  the  drum  of  the  pheasant  resounds,  as 
though  a  warning  tattoo  of  coming  frosts. 

On  the  farms  the  scene  is  all  animation.  Although  some 
corn-fields  have  already  been  stripped  of  their  blades,  leaving 
the  bare  stalks  standing  with  their  single  ears,  others  are  just 
ripe  for  work,  and  amid  their  golden  banners,  are  the  laborers, 
pulling  and  bundling  the  fodder.  Stubble  fields  are  being 
turned  under  and  sown  with  grain  for  next  year's  wheat.  The 
orchards  are  burdened  with  rosy  fruit ;  and  at  the  farm-houses, 
the  women  are  busy  paring  apples,  and  spreading  them  on  board 
stages  for  drying  in  the  sun. 

At  this  time  the  cattle,  turned  out  in  the  spring  to  pasture 
on  the  bald  mountains,  are  in  splendid  condition,  and  no  more 
tender  and  juicy  steaks  ever  graced  a  table  than  those  cut  from 
the  hind  quarters  of  one  of  these  steers.  The  sheep,  just 
clipped  of  their  wool  (they  shear  sheep  twice  a  year  in  these 
mountains)  afford  the  finest  mutton  in  the  world.  But  let  us 
return  to  the  hunt. 

There  was  a  sharp  tingle  of  frost  in  the  atmosphere.  Our 
breath  made  itself  visible  in  the  clear  air,  and  even  Kenswick's 
naturally  pale  face  grew  rubicund. 

"I'll  swear,"  said  he,  blowing  upon  his  fingers,  "this  is 
colder  than  I  bargained  for.  A  man  must  keep  moving  to  keep 
warm.  No  stand  for  me  this  morning.  I'm  going  in  the  drive. 
Why,  I'd  freeze  to  sit  still  for  even  half  an  hour  waiting  for  a 
deer." 

"Hit's  powerful  keen,  I'll  'low,"  returned  Quil,  "but  hit  '11 
be  warmer  directly  the  sun  done  gits  up.  You  cudn't  stand 


A  Pack  of  Mongrel  Curs.  1 5  5 

the  drive  no  how,  an'  yer  chances  wud  be  slim  fer  a  shot.  Ef 
ye  want  to  keep  yer  breath,  and  the  starch  in  yer  biled  shirt, 
ye'd  better  mind  a  stan'.  Yeh!  Ring;  Yeh !  Snap;  Hi! 
boys." 

At  the  latter  calls,  three  hounds  came  leaping  around  the 
corner  of  the  cabin,  joining  the  four  which  were  already  at  our 
heels.  It  was  a  mongrel  collection  of  half  starved  curs.  Two 
of  them,  however,  were  full  blooded  deer  dogs.  Their  keen 
noses,  clear  eyes,  shapely  heads,  and  lithe  limbs,  put  us  in  high 
hopes  of  the  successful  result  of  the  day's  hunt.  By  tying 
ropes  around  the  necks  of  the  two  old  deer  dogs,  Quil  carried 
into  execution  his  proposition  to  "yoke  up"  the  leaders  ;  and, 
forthwith,  explained  that,  at  the  instant  of  springing  the  first 
deer,  he  would  loosen  one  hound,  whom  three  of  the  other  dogs 
would  follow.  The  next  plain  scent  he  would  reserve  for  the 
remaining  leader  and  two  followers. 

Some  of  the  old  hunters  of  the  Smokies  have  reduced  dog 
training  to  a  fine  art.  They  keep  from  three  to  eight  hounds, 
who  in  a  drive,  hold  themselves  strictly  to  their  master's 
orders.  None  of  them  need  to  be  "yoked,"  or  leashed,  and 
simply  at  his  word,  when  a  scent  is  sprung,  one  hound  so 
ordered  will  leave  the  pack  and  follow  alone,  and  so  on,  giving 
each  hound  a  separate  trail.  This  plan  of  training  the  hounds 
does  not  prevail  to  as  great  an  extent  as  it  did  a  few  years  since 
when  the  game  was  more  plenty. 

Brushing  through  the  wet  weeds  and  rusty,  standing  stalks  of 
blade-stripped  corn,  we  climbed  a  rail  fence  and  entered  a  faint 
trail  along  the  laureled  bank  of  a  trout  stream.  This  stream 
we  crossed  by  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  while  the  hounds 
splashed  through  the  cold  waters.  The  forest  we  were  in  was 
gorgeous  under  the  wizard  influence  of  autumn ;  chestnut  and 
beech  burrs  lay  thick  under  foot,  and  the  acorn  mast  was  being 


1 56  After  the  Antlers. 

fed  upon  by  droves  of  fierce-looking,  bristled  hogs,  running  at 
large  on  the  mountain. 

The  long  blast  of  a  horn,  and  a  loud  barking,  arrested  our 
attention,  and  soon  after  we  were  joined  by  a  short,  thick- set 
young  man,  whom  Quil  introduced  as  Ben  Lester.  He  was 
the  picture  of  a  back-woods  hunter.  The  rent  in  his  homespun 
coat  strapped  around  his  waist,  looked  as  though  done  by  the 
claws  of  a  black  bear.  His  legs  were  short,  and  just  sinewy 
enough  to  carry  him  up  and  down  ridges  for  40  miles  per  day. 
A  good-natured,  honest,  and  determined  face,  bristling  with  a 
brown  moustache,  and  stubble  beard,  of  a  week's  growth,  sur- 
mounted his  broad  shoulders.  His  hands  were  locked  over  the 
stock  of  a  rifle  as  long  as  himself.  The  ram's  horn,  that  sig- 
naled us  of  his  presence,  hung  at  his  side,  and  three  well-fed, 
long-eared  hounds,  were  standing  close  by  him  ;  one  between 
his  legs. 

The  plan  for  the  hunt  was  as  follows  :  Lester  and  the  Rose 
brothers  were  to  do  the  driving,  taking  in  a  wild  section,  lying 
far  above  and  north  of  the  Little  Tennessee ;  we  four  city  boys 
were  to  occupy  drive-ways,  and  watch  for,  halt,  and  slay  every 
deer  that  passed.  Lester  volunteered  to  show  me  to  my  pro- 
posed stand.  He  proved  himself  to  be  an  intelligent  and  edu- 
cated fellow,  but  of  taciturn  disposition.  I  succeeded  in  start- 
ing him,  however,  and  it  was  this  way  he  talked : 

"  November  is  the  prime  time  for  hunting  deer,  but  this 
month  is  very  good.  You  see,  the  deer,  owing  to  the  thinness 
of  hair,  are  red  in  the  summer.  As  the  weather  gets  cooler, 
their  hair  grows  longer,  and  their  color  gets  blue.  If  you  shoot 
a  deer  in  the  deep  water  before  the  middle  of  October,  he's 
liable  to  sink,  and  you  lose  him." 

4 'Why  is  that?" 

"  His  hair  is  what  buoys  him  up.  He'd  sink  like  a  stone,  in 
the  summer  or  early  fall." 


A  Hunters  Observations. 

''Where  are  the  most  deer  killed?" 

"On  the  river.  Sometimes  they  steer  straight  for  the  water. 
If  the  day  is  hot,  they're  sure  to  get  there  in  a  short  time.  On 
cool  days,  they'll  sometimes  race  the  hounds  from  morning  till 
night;  and  then,  as  a  last  hope,  with  the  pack  on  their  heels, 
they'll  break  for  the  river. 

"Do  the  hounds  follow  by  the  ground  scent  ?" 

"No.  The  best  hounds  leap  along  snuffing  at  the  bushes 
that  the  deer  has  brushed  against" 

"When,  where,  and  on  what  do  they  feed  ?" 

"Here,  I  know,  where  the  deer  have  become  timid  on 
account  of  so  much  driving,  they  doze  in  the  day-time,  and 
feed  at  night.  The  heavy  woods  along  the  upper  streams 
afford  excellent  coverts  for  their  day  dreams.  In  summer  pick- 
ing is  plenty ;  in  winter  they  brouse  on  the  scanty  grass,  the 
diminished  mast,  and  the  green  but  poisonous  ivy." 

"  Poisonous  ivy?" 

"Yes.  It  is  singular,  but  it  has  no  effect  on  them.  It  will 
kill  everything  else.  Why,  one  buck,  killed  here  several  win- 
ters since,  had  been  living  on  ivy,  and  every  dog  that  fed  on 
his  entrails  was  taken  with  the  blind  staggers  and  nearly  died." 

"What's  a  slink?" 

"A  year-old  deer.  When  past  a  year  old,  the  male  deer  is 
called  a  spike-buck.  It  is  said  that,  with  every  year,  a  prong 
is  added  to  their  antlers,  but  it's  a  mistake.  I  never  saw  one 
with  more  than  six  prongs  ;  and  in  these  mountains  there's  a 
certain  deer,  with  short  legs,  known  as  the  '  duck-legged  buck/ 
that  has  been  seen  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  and  in  some  unac- 
countable manner,  on,  every  drive  he  has  escaped.  Now  he 
has  only  six  prongs." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  once  five  years  ago,  and  again  last  fall." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  stone  being  found  in  a  deer?" 


1 5  8  After  the  A  niters. 

' '  Yes,  the  mad  stone.  People  believe  it  will  cure  snake- 
bite and  hydrophobia.  Here's  one.  It  was  found  in  the 
paunch  of  a  white  deer  that  I  shot  this  fall  was  a  year  ago ;  and, 
mind  you,  the  deer  with  a  mad-stone  in  him  is  twice  as  hard  to 
kill  as  one  of  the  ordinary  kind." 

"A  fact?" 

"  Yes.      Five  bullets  were  put  in  the  buck  that  carried  this." 

The  stone  he  showed  was  smooth  and  red,  as  large  as  a  man's 
thumb,  and  with  one  flat,  white  side.  The  peculiar  properties 
attributed  to  it  are,  in  all  probability,  visionary.  The  idea  of 
its  being  a  life  preserver  for  the  deer  which  carries  it,  savors  of 
superstition. 

"Now,"  said  Lester,  coming  to  a  halt  on  the  ridge;  "here's 
your  stand.  You  must  watch  till  you  hear  the  dogs  drop  into 
that  hollow,  or  cross  the  ridge  above  you.  In  such  case,  the 
deer  has  taken  another  drive-way,  and  it's  no  use  for  you  to 
wait  any  longer.  Start  on  the  minute,  as  fast  as  you  can  go  it, 
down  this  ridge  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  a  big,  blasted  chestnut; 
then  turn  sharp  to  the  right,  cross  the  hollow  and  follow 
another  leading  ridge  till  you  strike  the  river.  You  know 
where  the  Long  rock  is?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  make  right  for  it,  and  stand  there." 

He  disappeared'  with  his  hounds,  leaving  me  alone  in  a 
wooded,  level  expanse.  It  was  then  full  morning,  and  the 
ground  was  well  checkered  with  light  and  shadow.  My  seat 
was  a  mossy  rock  at  the  base  of  a  beech  tree,  and  with  breech- 
loading  shot-gun,  cocked,  and  lying  across  my  knees,  I  kept 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  depths  of  forest,  and  waited  for  the  bark 
which  would  announce  the  opening  of  the  chase. 

Soon  it  came, — a  loud,  deep  baying,  floating,  as  it  seemed, 
from  a  long  distance,  across  steeps,  over  the  trees,  and  gather- 
ing in  volume.  One  of  the  deep-mouthed  hounds  had  evi- 


A  Case  of  "Buck  Ague."  159 

dently  snuffed  something  satisfactory  in  the  dewy  grasses  or  on 
the  undergrowth.  His  baying  had  been  reinforced  by  several 
pairs  of  lungs,  and  the  drive  was  under  full  head-way.  Now  it 
would  be  faint,  telling  of  a  ravine,  rhododendrons,  and  trees 
with  low  umbrageous  branches ;  then  would  come  a  full 
burst  of  melody,  as  the  noses  of  the  pack  gained  the  summit  of 
a  ridge,  or  swept  through  an  open  forest.  But,  all  in  all,  it 
grew  louder.  It  was  still  far  above  me,  on  the  spurs  of  the 
Smokies,  and  seemed  bearing  across  the  long  ridge  on  which  I 
rested.  Then  again  it  turned,  and,  in  all  its  glorious  strength, 
swept  below  me,  through  the  deep  hollow.  My  excitement 
reached  its  climax  just  then,  for  suddenly  there  was  a  discord 
in  the  music,  and  every  hound  was  yelping  like  mad. 

"Yip,  yip,  yip  !  "   they  rang  out. 

The  quick  barks  told  a  new  story, — the  hounds  had  sighted 
the  game,  and,  for  the  moment,  were  close  on  its  haunches.  It 
was  manifest  that  the  drive-way  I  was  on  was  not  to  be  taken. 
The  guide's  instructions  for  seeking  the  river  were  now  to  be 
followed.  Starting  on  a  quick  pace  through  the  woods,  I 
traveled  as  directed,  and  was  soon  on  the  leading  ridge.  One 
rifle  shot  startled  the  forest  as  I  ran  ;  and,  in  the  evening,  at 
Daniel  Lester's  pleasant  fireside,  by  the  Little  Tennessee, 
Kenswick  told  the  following  story : 

Jake  Rose  had  selected  for  him  an  excellent  stand ;  admon- 
ished him  to  keep  his  eyes  peeled,  his  gun  cocked,  and  not  take 
the  "buck-ague"  if  a  deer  shot  by  him  He  heard  the  chorus, 
and  watched  and  panted  Suddenly,  under  the  branches  of  the 
wood,  appeared  a  big,  blue  buck,  making  long  leaps  toward 
him.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  pass  within  20  steps,  Kenswick 
jumped  out  from  behind  his  tree,  and  yelled  like  a  Cherokee. 
The  buck  stopped,  as  though  turned  to  stone,  in  his  tracks,  and 
gazed  in  amazement  at  the  noisy  Kenswick,  who  already  had 
his  gun  at  his  shoulder.  He  tried  to  draw  a  bead,  but  his 


160  After  the  Antlers. 

hands  shook  so,  that  he  could  not  cover  the  animal  by  a  foot. 
The  buck  snuffed  the  air,  made  a  leap,  and  was  away  as  Kens- 
wick,  in  utter  despair,  pulled  the  trigger,  and  sent  a  ball  from 
his  Remington  whistling  through  the  oak  leaves. 

"Why!"  he  exclaimed,  in  the  excitement  of  telling  it, 
''look  at  my  arm."  He  held  it  out  as  steady  as  a  man  taking 
sight  in  a  duel.  "Isn't  that  steady?  Now  why  the  devil 
couldn't  I  hold  it  that  way  then  ?" 

"Buck  ague,"  answered  Ben  Lester,  quietly;  and  then  the 
old  and  young  hunters,  around  that  fireside,  laughed  uproar- 
iously. 

The  barking  of  the  hounds,  like  my  pace,  stopped  for  a 
moment  at  the  report  of  Kenswick's  gun.  Ten  minutes  after, 
I  was  on  the  Long  rock  on  the  bank  of  the  Little  Tennessee. 
This  stand  merits  a  description,  for  from  it  probably  more  deer 
have  been  killed  than  at  any  other  single  point  in  the  mountains 
of  Western  North  Carolina.  It  is  at  the  Narrows.  Here,  in 
the  narrowest  channel  of  its  course,  from  below  where  it  begins 
to  merit  the  name  of  a  river,  this  stream,  of  an  average  width 
of  150  yards,  pours  the  whole  drainage  of  the  counties  of 
Swain,  Jackson,  Macon,  one-half  of  Graham  and  a  small  portion, 
of  Northern  Georgia,  between  banks  eighty-five  feet  apart.  The 
waters  are  those  of  the  rivers  Tuckasege,  Cullasaja,  Nantihala, 
Ocona  Lufta,  and  the  large  creeks  Soco,  Scott's,  Caney  Fork, 
Stecoah,  Forney,  and  Hazel,  heading  in  the  cross-chains  of  the 
Balsam,  Cowee,  Nantihala,  and  Valley  River  mountains,  and  on 
the  southern  slope  of  the  Great  Smoky. 

For  100  yards  the  stream  shoots  along  like  a  mill-race. 
Brown  boulders,  the  size  of  horses,  coaches  and  cabins,  are  piled 
at  the  edges  of  the  current.  At  the  entrance  to  the  Narrows^ 
a  line  of  rocks  forms  a  broken  fall  of  several  feet.  Over  it  the 
waters  are  white,  and  the  trees  wet  with  spray.  Above  its 
roar,  no  rifle  shot,  or  hound's  bay  can  be  heard  a  few  feet  away. 


A  Famous  Stand,  161 

Long  rock  is  a  dark  boulder  projecting  into  the  river,  at  its 
very  narrowest  point,  100  yards  below,  and  in  full  sight  of  the 
white  rapids.  The  hunter  leaves  the  road,  jumps  and  clambers 
over  a  succession  of  immense  boulders,  and  at  length  seats  him- 
self on  Long  rock.  The  water,  close  at  its  edge,  is  forty  feet 
deep.  A  steep  mountain,  following  the  river  round  every  bend, 
showing  square,  mossed  rocks  under  the  heavy  autumn-tinted 
forests  on  its  front,  rises  close  along  the  river's  opposite  edge. 
A  few  sand-bars,  below  the  stand,  reach  out  from  the  mountain's 
foot.  There  is  one  narrow  band  of  sandy  bank  directly  op- 
posite the  stand.  Projecting  boulders  shield  it  from  the  rush  of 
waters.  On  this  sandy  bank  the  deer,  if  frightened  when  swim- 
ming down  mid-stream,  will  climb  out,  affording  just  the  shot 
desired  by  the  hunter.  If  not  frightened,  they  will  pass  on  to 
the  smooth-water  sand-bars  below,  and  then,  leaving  the  water, 
disappear  up  the  mountain. 

The  drive-way,  for  which  Long  rock  is  a  stand,  comes  down 
to  the  river  a  few  yards  above  the  fall  described.  There  are  no 
rapids  on  the  Tennessee,  but  what  can  be  swum  by  the  deer. 
In  many  instances,  to  cool  his  body  and  baffle  the  hounds,  he 
keeps  the  center  of  the  stream  for  a  mile  or  more,  sometimes 
stopping  in  the  water  for  hours  before  resuming  his  course. 
The  hounds,  when  the  deer  is  in  sight,  follow  him  in  the  water, 
and  generally  succeed  in  drowning  him  before  he  reaches  the 
bank. 

A  deer  in  the  water  can  be  easily  managed,  but,  as  seen  by 
the  following  anecdote,  there  is  considerable  danger  in  ventur- 
ing in  after  one.  Still  living  in  the  Smoky  Mountain  section  of 
the  Tennessee,  is  an  old  hunter,  by  name,  Brit  Mayner.  In 
the  days  when  his  limbs  were  more  supple,  he  was  brave,  even 
to  foolhardiness,  and,  on  one  occasion,  as  told  by  a  participant 
in  the  hunt,  he  came  near  losing  his  life.  A  deer  had  been  run 
to  the  river,  and  in  mid-stream  was  surrounded  by  the  hounds. 


1 62  After  the  Antlers, 

Through  the  great  strength  and  endurance  ot  the  deer,  the 
hounds  were  kept  in  the  water  until  Mayner,  becoming  im- 
patient, decided  to  settle  the  fight  by  his  own  hand.  He  di- 
vested and  swam  out.  At  his  first  pass  at  the  deer,  the  hounds 
took  umbrage,  and  fiercely  attacked  him.  It  was  deer  and  dogs 
against  man.  All  were  in  earnest,  and  it  was  only  by  his  ex- 
pertness  as  a  swimmer  that  Mayner  escaped  being  drowned. 

That  morning  I  reached  the  river,  and  covered  the  stand. 
The  sun's  rays,  striking  the  open  water,  were  bright  and  warm. 
Only  a  slight  breeze  was  blowing,  and  the  frostiness  of  the  air 
had  disappeared.  There  was  no  shadow  over  the  rock;  and, 
sweating  from  my  rapid  run,  to  make  myself  comfortable  I 
threw  off  my  coat,  vest  and  shoes. 

A  position  on  the  deer  stand,  when  one  must  keep  his  eyes 
on  the  running  water,  is  most  tiresome,  even  for  a  few  hours. 
The  hunter  on  Long  rock  can,  however,  study  his  surroundings 
without  much  imperiling  his  reputation  as  a  sportsman  ;  for, 
unless  he  turned  his  back  entirely  on  the  upper  stream,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  a  deer  to  reach  his  point  unnoticed.  The 
white  rapids,  the  mountains  around  the  distant  bend,  the  rich- 
colored  wooded  slopes  on  both  sides,  the  sound  of  waves  dash- 
ing against  the  banks,  and  the  swash  of  water  among  the  piles 
of  rock,  has,  in  all,  something  to  make  him  a  dreamer,  and 
pass  the  hours  away  uncounted. 

An  hour  passed,  and  then  I  noticed  a  dark  object  amid  the 
white  foam  of  the  rapids.  A  moment  later  it  was  in  the 
smooth,  swift-flowing  waters,  and  bearing  down  the  center  of 
the  current.  My  blood  jumped  in  my  veins  as  I  saw  plainly 
the  outline  of  the  object  There  was  the  nose,  the  eyes,  the 
ears,  and,  above  all,  a  pair  of  branching  antlers,  making  up  the 
blue  head  of  what  was  undoubtedly  a  magnificent  buck. 

When  he  was  within  50  yards  of  Long  rock,  I  jumped  to 
my  feet,  hallooed  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  took  off  my  hat  and 


The  Supreme  Moment.  163 

waved  it  aloft.  The  buck  saw  me.  I  dropped  my  hat  and 
leveled  my  gun.  He  tried  to  turn  and  stem  the  current,  but  it 
was  too  strong,  and  bore  him  to  the  sand-bank,  directly  oppo- 
site my  stand.  What  a  shot  he  would  have  made  in  the  water  ! 
His  feet  touched  bottom,  and  then  his  blue  neck  and  shoulders 
appeared,  but  not  before  the  report  of  my  gun  rang  out.  True, 
my  hand  trembled,  but,  with  a  fair  bead  on  his  head,  I  had 
made  the  shot.  Through  the  smoke,  I  saw  him  make  several 
spasmodic  efforts  to  draw  his  body  out  of  the  water,  and  then, 
still  struggling,  he  fell  back  with  a  splash. 

As  I  stood  there,  in  my  stocking  feet,  and  feeling  a  few 
inches  taller,  I  had  no  doubt  that  the  deer  was  dead,  but  I 
was  all  at  once  startled  by  the  danger  I  was  in  of  losing  him. 
The  current  before  the  sand-bank  kept  moving  his  body,  and  I 
saw  plainly  that  in  a  few  minutes  it  might  drift  him  into  swifter 
waters,  where  he  might  sink.  To  lose  the  game,  at  any 
hazard,  was  out  of  the  question.  In  a  twinkling,  my  panta- 
loons and  shirt  were  off,  besides  the  clothes  of  which  I  had 
previously  denuded  myself,  and  a  second  after,  I  had  plunged 
head-first  into  the  Tennessee. 

The  current  bore  me  down  stream  like  an  arrow,  but  an  ac- 
complishment, picked  up  in  truant  days,  came  in  good  stead, 
and  with  a  few,  strong  strokes,  I  reached  and  climbed  out  on 
a  sand-bar,  at  some  distance  below  where  I  had  made  the 
plunge.  As  I  rose  to  my  feet,  I  was  dumb-founded  to  see  an 
antlered  head  rise  from  behind  the  rocks  where  lay  the  supposed 
slaughtered  deer.  Then  the  whole  blue  form  of  a  buck  ap- 
peared in  view,  and  leaped  from  sight,  up  the  rocks,  and  under 
the  trees  on  the  mountain's  steep  front.  The  sight  chilled  me 
more  than  the  waters  of  the  Tennessee.  It  was  the  very  buck 
I  had  shot. 

I  hurried  up  the  bank,  clambered  over  the  cold  rocks,  and 
reached  the  sand-bar  where  my  game  had  fallen.  It  was  bare ! 


1 64  After  the  Antlers. 

I  could  not  convince  myself  of  its  being  a  dream,  for  there 
were  the  imprints  of  the  hoofs.  I  picked  up  the  shattered 
prong  of  an  antler.  It  had  been  cut  off  by  a  charge  of  buck- 
shot. The  mystery  of  the  fall  and  subsequent  disappearance 
was  explained.  My  shot  had  hit  one  of  his  antlers  and  simply 
stunned  him  for  a  moment.  Just  then  a  voice  rang  from  the 
rocks  across  the  river: 

"  Are  ye  taking  a  swim  ?  " 

"No,  just  cooling  off, "  I  answered. 

It  was  Ben  Lester  who  spoke,  and  with  him  was  Sanford  and 
the  dogs. 

"Where  is  the  deer  that  came  this  way?  What  luck  have 
you  had?  Why  aint  you  here  watching?"  yelled  Sanford. 

I  did  not  stop  to  answer  his  volley  of  questions,  but  plunged 
into  the  river,  and  reached  the  opposite  bank.  Then,  dressing 
myself,  I  explained. 

"Well,"  said  Lester,  as  I  finished,  "no  more  could  have 
been  expected." 

"Why?"  I  asked  rather  indignantly;  for  although  I  fully 
realized  that  I  had  proved  myself  a  miserable  shot,  I  did  not 
like  being  accused  of  it  in  terms  like  these. 

"No  one  could  have  done  any  better,"  he  answered 

"No  better?" 

' '  Not  a  bit.      It  was  the  duck-legged  buck  !  " 

"Are  you  sure?"  I  asked,  feeling  like  a  drowning  man  sight- 
ing a  buoy  ;  for  here  lay  the  shadow  of  an  excuse  for  my  failure. 

"Of  course.  I  saw  him  leave  you.  I'll  bet  my  last  dollar 
that  he  has  inside  of  him  a  mad-stone  as  big  as  your  fist!" 
Then  shaking  his  head,  and  talking  half  aloud  to  himself; 
"Strange,  strange,  strange!  Fifteen  years  old,  and  still  alive!  " 

I  did  not  attempt  to  scatter  his  superstition  by  telling  that  in 
reality  I  had  hit  the  buck,  and  that  it  was  wholly  due  to  my 
poor  marksmanship  that  he  escaped.  Sanford  then  told  how 


Around  the  Hunters  Hearthstone.  165 

he  had  topped  a  doe  at  his  stand  and  killed  her, — the  only 
game  secured  that  day.  In  the  afternoon  the  Rose  brothers 
brought  it  with  our  horses,  as  \ve  had  directed,  to  the  house  of 
Daniel  Lester. 

Lester's  is  an  unpretentious,  double  log  house,  situated  in  the 
center  of  a  tract  of  cultivated  hill-side  land  on  the  north  or  east 
bank  of  the  Little  Tennessee,  thirty-three  miles  from  Charles- 
ton, North  Carolina,  and  three  miles  from  the  Tennessee  state 
line.  It  is  approached  by  a  good  wagon-road  from  Charleston, 
or  from  Marysville,  Tennessee,  the  head  of  the  nearest  railroad. 
The  view  from  the  door-way  is  of  exquisite  beauty,  especially 
towards  evening  when  the  wine-red  October  sun  is  sinking  amid 
the  clouds  beyond  the  mountain  summits  at  the  far  end  of  the 
river,  and  pours  a  dying  glory  over  the  scene.  Daniel  Lester  is 
a  man  of  prominence  in  the  county.  His  is  a  North  Carolinian 
hospitality,  and  we  will  always  hold  in  pleasant  remembrance 
our  short  stay  at  his  humble  dwelling. 

The  most  pleasant  time  of  the  hunt  is  the  evening  of  the 
hunt,  when  darkness  has  fallen,  all  the  party  is  within  the  same 
doors,  a  rousing  fire  roars  and  leaps  in  the  great,  open  chimney, 
and  flings  its  light  in  every  face,  the  faucet  of  the  cider-barrel  is 
turned  at  intervals,  chestnuts  are  bursting  on  the  hot  hearth- 
stones, and  after  every  man  in  his  turn  has  recounted  his  day's 
experience,  the  oldest  hunter  of  the  group  tells  his  most  thrill- 
ing "varmint"  stories,  till  the  flames  die  down  to  glowing  coals, 
and  midnight  proclaims  the  end  of  the  day  in  which  we  were 
after  the  antlers. 


NATURAL  RESOURCES. 


'I'd  kind  o'  like  to  have  a  cot 
Fixed  on  some  sunny  slope;  a  spot, 

Five  acres,  more  or  less, 
With  maples,  cedars,  cherry-trees, 
And  poplars  whitening  in  the  breeze." 


¥T¥-HAT  clever  humorist,  Mark  Twain,  represents  himself  as 
ZJtf^  once  patriotically  telling  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
that  his  annual  report  was  too  dry,  too  statistical ;  that  he 
ought  to  get  some  jokes  into  it,  wood  cuts,  at  least;  people 
read  the  almanac  for  the  fun,  etc.  The  humorist's  idea  is  not 
new.  It  was  unintentionally  put  into  practice  by  a  much  respect- 
ed old  geographer,  who  wrote  the  statistical  treatise  on  the 
earth's  surface,  which  occupied  many  long  hours  of  our  pleasure 
loving  youth,  in  obstinate  efforts  at  memorizing.  That  vener- 
able book  contained,  with  wood  cuts  and  all,  probably  the  most 
successful  joke  in  school  literature.  We  remember  this  sen- 
tence :  "The  staple  productions  of  North  Carolina  are  tar, 
pitch,  resin,  and  turpentine."  The  picture  represented  a 
gloomy  forest,  a  rude  still,  and  a  group  of  dirty  men.  A  crowd 

167 


1 68  Natural  Resources. 

of  later  writers  01  school  geographies  have  thought  this  canard 
on  a  great  state,  with  varied  industries,  too  good  to  be  lost, 
but  remembering  that  every  ounce  of  fiction,  to  be  palatable, 
must  contain  a  drachm  of  truth,  added  lumber.  It  has  now 
been  stereotyped,  <(  pitch,  tar,  turpentine,  and  lumber."  If 
anyone  has  been  fooled  by  the  books  of  his  youth,  six  hours 
travel  from  the  coast  westward,  during  which  he  will  see  broad 
fields  of  corn  and  plantations  of  cotton  and  tobacco,  will  lead 
him  to  an  appreciation  of  the  "tar-heel  joke."  North  Carolina 
does  lead  all  the  states  in  the  production  of  resin  and  turpen- 
tine, but  that  industry  does  not  employ  one-thirtieth  of  her 
active  capital,  nor  constitute  one-fifteenth  of  her  gross  produc- 
tion. Her  lumber  resources  constitute  a  real  and.  important 
source  of  wealth  and  will  receive  some  attention  in  this  sketch. 
The  state  of  North  Carolina  could  probably  get  along  without 
the  rest  of  the  world  more  comfortably  than  any  territory  of 
equal  size  in  the  western  hemisphere.  With  its  eastern  border 
dipping  into  the  tropical  gulf  stream  and  its  western  border 
projecting  more  than  a  mile  skyward,  the  state  possesses  a 
climate  almost  continental  in  its  range.  An  old  poet  describing 
the  spread-eagle  breadth  of  his  country  said  that  it  stretched 

"  From  Maine's  dark  pines  and  crags  of  snow 
To  where  Magnolian  breezes  blow. " 

From  a  climatical  and  botanical  point  of  view  North  Carolina 
is  as  large  as  the  country  described  by  the  poet's  couplet.  But 
it  is  not  the  whole  state  we  propose  to  discuss.  That  subject 
is  too  long  for  the  prescribed  brevity  of  our  paper,  which  will 
permit  us  to  do  but  partial  justice  to  the  particular  section 
included  in  the  scope  of  this  volume.  We  begin  with  agricul- 
ture, the  most  varied  of  the  three  divisions  of  productive  indus- 
try. 

The  line  of  800  feet  altitude  follows  the  general  direction  of 
the  Blue  Ridge,  and  crosses  the  counties  of  Gaston,  Lincoln, 


North  Carolina  Tobacco.  169 

Catawba,  Iredell,  Davie,  Forsyth,  and  Stokes.  The  best  cot- 
ton lands  of  the  State  lie  east  of  this  line,  but  cotton  is  success- 
fully raised  in  all  the  counties  we  have  named.  There  was  a 
time  when  planters  chose  cotton  lands  with  the  greatest  regard 
for  soil  and  climate,  but  experience  has  greatly  increased  the 
cotton  producing  area,  which,  by  the  aid  of  improved  fertilizers, 
may  be  still  further  enlarged.  The  crop,  without  the  aid 
of  artificial  stimulants,  can  not  be  profitably  raised  in  North 
Carolina  above  the  line  of  800  feet  altitude.  It  has  been  culti- 
vated for  more  than  home  consumption  only  within  the  last  few 
years.  Most  planters  have  realized  profitable  returns,  though 
the  probabilities  are  that  it  is  not  the  most  remunerative  crop. 
Present  tendencies  indicate  that  tobacco  will  become  the  chief 
staple  agricultural  product  of  Western  North  Carolina.  The 
value  of  a  crop,  especially  where  transportation  is  high,  does 
not  depend  so  much  on  the  number  of  pounds  as  on  the  price 
of  each  pound.  This  is  why  North  Carolina  has  the  advantage 
of  all  other  tobacco  producing  states.  It  can  easily  be  shown 
that  the  piedmont  and  transmontane  tabJe  lands  have  advan- 
tages over  the  other  sections  of  the  state  in  which  they  are 
included.  While  the  crop  of  Ohio,  which  produces  a  heavy 
dark  leaf,  weighs  more  than  double  the  crop  of  North  Carolina, 
yet  where  estimates  are  made  upon  the  basis  of  market  value 
the  latter  state  will  be  found  to  stand  first.  The  heavy  leaves 
of  dark  soils  contain  a  large  percentage  of  nitiogen  and  are 
charged  with  nicotine,  rendering  them  unpleasant  to  the  taste 
and  smell,  and  injurious  to  the  health.  Not  only  is  the  bright 
yellow  leaf  of  the  Southern  Alleghanies  singularly  free  of  these 
unpleasant  and  unhealthful  properties,  but  the  golden  beauty  of 
its  color  gives  it  a  value  far  above  any  American  tobacco.  "It 
is  an  undeniable  fact,"  says  Colonel  Cameron  in  his  Sketcli, 
"that -North  Carolina  is  the  producer  of  tobacco,  unequalled 
even  in  Virginia ;  and  yet,  owing  to  the  course  trade  has 


170  Natural  Resources. 

taken,  she  is  deprived  of  her  due  credit  both  in  quality  anu 
quantity.  Until  within  a  few  years,  when  she  has  built  up  some 
interior  markets,  Virginia  had  absorbed  her  fame  as  well  as 
her  products." 

It  is  the  experience  of  planters,  that  a  soil  composed  of  sand 
mixed  with  clay  and  gravel,  is  most  favorable  to  the  production 
of  the  gold  leaf.  The  conditions  of  climate  are :  cool  nights, 
copious  rainfall  in  summer,  and  a  dry  September.  These  cli- 
matic conditions  are  more  perfectly  filled  in  Western  North 
Carolina  than  anywhere  in  the  country.  So  far  as  relates  to 
soil,  there  are  portions  of  every  county,  with  the  possible  ex- 
ception of  Watauga,  which  is  too  elevated,  admirably  adapted 
to  the  crop.  We  will  briefly  speak  of  localities,  beginning  with 
the  piedmont  belt,  which  consists  of  an  irregular  plain,  sloping 
from  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge  toward  the  southeast.  The 
surface  is  undulating  and  well  drained,  but  even  and  easily  cul- 
tivated; except  where  the  South  mountain  chain,  and  its  pro- 
jecting spurs,  have  made  precipitous  slopes.  The  prevailing 
timber  is  yellow  pine;  post  oak,  and  hickory,  and  in  the  valleys 
and  on  the  foot-hills,  poplar,  white  oak,  elm,  and  other  hard- 
woods abound.  Large  areas  are  yet  in  native  forest,  and 
smaller  tracts  are  covered  with  what  is  known  as  old  field 
growth — scrub  oak  and  pines.  There  is  too  much  of  that 
desolation  called  ' '  old  field"  to  make  the  landscape  attractive 
to  the  tourist.  Any  who  are  interested  in  agriculture,  and  those 
departments  of  business  based  upon  it,  should  survey  with  care 
the  piedmont  belt  of  counties. 

The  valleys  of  the  Broad,  Catawba,  and  Yadkin,  offer  for  all 
kinds  of  husbandry  an  inviting  field.  The  soil  is  composed  of 
a  mixture  of  sand  and  loam,  with  an  impervious  clay  sub-soil. 
The  climatic  conditions  are  equally  auspicious.  Abundance  of 
rain,  low  humidity,  cool  nights,  temperate  days,  and  equable 
seasons,  contribute  alike  to  the  luxuriance  of  plants  and  the 


Inviting  Fields.  171 

health  of  animals.  The  headwater  valleys  of  the  three  rivers 
we  have  named,  resemble  each  other  in  all  essential  particulars. 
The  uplands,  which  constitute  the  water-sheds,  have  in  their 
soil  a  larger  percentage  of  clay,  and  are  consequently  less  de- 
sirable than  the  bottoms,  yet  with  care  and  intelligent  cultiva- 
tion, grasses  could  be  grown  with  profit.  The  yield  of  corn, 
wheat,  and  oats,  will  compare  favorably  with  any  other  locality 
in  the  South.  It  is  by  no  means  extravagant  to  say  that  soil 
of  the  more  favored  localities  has,  for  cereals,  double  its  present 
capacity.  Though  the  region  has  been  settled  for  a  century, 
no  attempt,  except  on  the  part  of  a  few  individuals,  has  been 
made  to  reduce  agriculture  to  the  basis  of  an  economic  science. 
The  native  population  has  been  tardy  in  taking  hold  of  tobacco 
culture,  the  most  remunerative  of  all  crops.  It  was  indeed 
left  to  immigrants  to  experiment,  and  prove  the  adaptability  of 
the  soil  and  climate  to  the  plant.  The  experimental  period  is 
now  passed,  and  but  a  few  years  remain  till  the  surplus  lands  are 
purchased  by  progressive  planters.  Prices  have  already  in- 
creased. Farms  which  five  years  ago  begged  purchasers  at 
three  to  five  dollars  per  acre,  now  sell  readily  at  from  eight  to 
twenty.  The  only  danger  to  a  further  increase  is  the  disposition, 
common  to  the  human  race,  to  kill  the  goose  which  lays  the 
golden  egg.  A  great  many  localities  in  Western  North  Carolina 
are  already  suffering  from  this  ruinous  policy.  Immigration  is 
needed,  both  for  the  good  of  the  country  and  the  advancement 
of  values,  but  people  are  not  disposed  to  leave  all  the  associations 
and  security  of  home,  without  some  strong  inducement.  The 
many  tempting  inducements  which  Western  North  Carolina 
offers,  in  various  fields  of  enterprise,  will  quickly  and  surely  be 
destroyed  by  a  sudden  and  radical  advance  of  prices.  This 
remark  applies  to  the  timber  and  mineral  tracts,  as  well  as  agri- 
cultural lands. 

The  growth  of  the   new   town  of  Hickory  furnishes   an  illus- 


172  Natural  Resources. 

tration  of  what  a  little  leaven  of  industry  will  do  in  one  of 
these  old  and  rather  dead  communities.  Prior  to  1867  there  had 
been  nothing  more  than  a  country  tavern  at  the  present  site  of 
the  town.  The  completion  to,  and  long  rest  at,  that  point  of 
the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad,  brought  into  existence  a 
small  hamlet,  which  was  incorporated  as  "Hickory  Tavern." 
But  a  little  more  than  ten  years  ago,  a  new  air  began  to  blow, 
which  set  things  astir,  and  has  been  keeping  them  astir  ever 
since.  In  1870,  the  township  had  a  population  of  1,591,  the 
village  existing  only  in  a  scattered  street  and  a  name;  in  1880, 
the  enumeration  showed  a  population  of  3,071,  and  the  village, 
itself,  has  a  population  of  not  less  than  1,400.  Its  trade  is 
larger  than  that  of  any  town  between  Salisbury  and  Asheville, 
commanding,  by  its  location,  several  counties.  Tobacco,  which 
can  always  be  relied  upon  for  a  cash  return,  has  been  the  main 
instrument  in  stimulating  general  industry.  Business  being  of 
a  productive  character — that  is,  converting  raw  material  into 
merchantable  goods — is  upon  a  safe  and  substantial  basis. 
There  are  two  warehouses  for  the  sale  of  leaf  tobacco,  four  to- 
bacco factories,  several  saw-mills,  planing-  and  shingle-mills,  etc., 
the  Piedmont  wagon  factory,  and  an  iron  foundry.  The  health- 
fulness  of  the  climate  attracts  all  the  people  during  summer 
which  two  hotels  and  a  number  of  private  boarding-houses  can 
accommodate.  St.  Joseph's  Academy  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  a 
Catholic  seminary  of  some  celebrity,  is  located  in  the  village. 
There  is  also  a  flourishing  Protestant  institution  for  women, 
known  as  Claremont  College  ;  a  third  institution  of  learning,  is 
Highland  school ;  the  three,  together  with  the  public  school, 
giving  the  place  unusual  educational  advantages.  The  railroad 
depot  stands  in  the  center  of  the  spacious  public  square,  around 
which  most  of  the  mercantile  business  is  done.  The  railroad 
cannot  be  said  to  have  been  built  through  the  town,  the  town 
has  been  built  around  the  railroad  station.  The  business  build- 


The  Piedmont  Counties.  175 

ings  are  mostly  of  brick,  and  substantial,  while  the  residences 
show  thrift  and  taste  on  the  part  of  their  owners. 

Shelby  is  the  second  town  in  size  in  the  piedmont  belt,  hav- 
ing a  population  of  990  in  1880.  It  is  pleasantly  situated  in 
the  valley  of  First  Broad  river,  and  is  surrounded  by  good 
lands.  An  experienced  planter  ranks  Cleveland  county,  of 
which  it  is  the  capital  town,  first  in  the  belt  in  adaptation  to 
the  culture  of  tobacco.  Shelby  is  likely  to  be  visited  by  all 
who  review  the  historic  field  on  Kings  mountain.  There  is 
near  the  town,  one  of  the  oldest  health  and  pleasure  resorts  in 
the  state. 

Rutherford  and  Polk  counties,  drained  by  the  Broad  river, 
on  the  west  and  northwest,  are  elevated  to  the  summit  of  the 
Blue  Ridge,  and  are  cut  by  its  projecting  spurs,  and  by  the 
straggling  chain  of  the  South  mountains.  Their  southern  por- 
tions are  level,  and  contain  many  acres  of  good  land. 

The  valley  of  the  Catawba,  in  Burke  and  McDowell,  is  un- 
excelled in  the  piedmont  region  for  corn,  wheat,  oats,  and  vege- 
tables. The  soil  is  a  clay  loam,  mixed  with  sand.  The  sub- 
soil is  an  impervious  clay,  which  prevents  the  filtration  of  ap- 
plied fertilizers.  Better  improvements  than  are  found  in  most 
localities  bespeak  thrift.  The  trade  of  the  upper  Catawba,  and 
its  tributaries,  goes  to  Morganton  and  Marion.  Alexander, 
Caldwell,  and  Wilkes,  are  fast  taking  high  rank  as  tobacco  pro- 
ducing counties,  though  it  is  probable  Catawba  will  maintain 
the  lead  in  this  industry. 

A  few  words  to  the  intending  immigrant  may  not  be  amiss. 
It  is  not  wise  to  select  "  old  field  land,"  with  a  view  to  raising  it 
to  a  good  state  of  cultivation.  Most  of  those  footprints  of  deso- 
lation are  beyond  recovery.  Those  which  are  not,  it  will  not 
pay  to  attempt  to  recover  as  long  as  soils  less  worn  remain 
purchasable  at  reasonable  figures.  A  Philadelphia  colony  made 
the  experiment,  against  which  we  warn,  in  Burke  county,  near 


lj6  Natural  Resources. 

Morgantown,  a  few  years  since.  Like  most  Northerners  who 
come  south,  they  brought  with  them  the  ideas  of  northern  farm 
life,  and  the  methods  of  northern  agriculture.  With  character- 
istic egotism,  they  never,  for  a  moment,  doubted  their  ability 
to  build  up  what  the  native  had  allowed  to  run  down  and 
abandon  as  worthless.  They  purchased,  at  a  round  price,  a 
large  tract  of  old  fields,  built  comfortable  frame  houses,  and 
furnished  them  expensively.  But  much  use  and  abuse  had  ex- 
hausted the  clay  of  its  substance,  and,  in  spite  of  deep  plough- 
ing and  careful  seeding,  it  yielded  no  harvest.  Their  furniture 
was  sold  at  a  sacrifice,  and  they  returned,  to  Pennsylvania,  dis- 
heartened. If  they  had  selected  the  best  lands,  instead  of  the 
worst,  and  been  content  to  live  economically,  as  poor  people 
must  live,  the  result  might  have  been  different.  The  folly 
which  has  made  old  fields,  makes  trying  to  resuscitate  them  none 
the  less  foolish,  though  buyers  are  frequently  made  to  believe 
the  contrary.  The  question  naturally  comes  up :  why  are 
there  so  many  of  these  ugly  blots,  marked  by  scrubby  pines, 
upon  the  face  of  an  otherwise  fair  landscape  ?  The  answer  is, 
indifferent  farming,  resulting,  in  a  great  many  cases,  from  the 
ownership  of  too  much  land.  There  was  no  object  in  saving 
manures,  and  ploughing  deep,  when  the  next  tract  lay  in  virgin 
soil,  awaiting  the  axe,  plough,  and  hoe.  The  writer  remarked 
to  a  farmer,  in  Burke  county,  that  his  corn  looked  yellow  and 
inquired  the  reason. 

"Waal,"  said  .he,  ''I  gin  hit  up.  I've  worked  that  thar 
patch  in  corn  now  nigh  onto  forty  year,  and"  hits  gin  worster 
and  worster  every  year.  I  reckon  hits  the  seasons." 

To  an  intelligent  planter  in  Catawba,  I  explained  my  inability 
to  understand  how  soil,  originally  good,  could  be  made  so  abso- 
lutely unproductive. 

Evidently  taking  my  question  to  imply  some  doubt  as  to  the 
virginal  fertility  of  which  he  had  been  telling  me,  he  pointed 


' '  Old  Field  Land. "  1 77 

significantly  to  an  adjoining  field,  where  a  woman  was  plowing, 
or'  more  properly  speaking,  stirring  the  weeds  with  a  little  bull- 
tongue  plow,  drawn  by  a  fresh  cow,  while  the  calf,  following 
after,  with  difficulty,  kept  in  the  half  made  furrow.  "You  see 
what  kind  of  work  that  is,"  said  my  friend,  "  but  in  spite  of  it, 
they  will  harvest  15  bushels  of  wheat  to  the  acre."  When,  a 
little  further  along,  I  saw  a  wooden:toothed  harrow  in  the 
fence  corner,  I  was  ready  to  give  nature  considerable  credit. 

During  the  same  ride,  while  crossing  a  sand  ridge,  we  came 
where  some  men  were  making  a  clearing.  The  prevailing 
growth,  standing  close  together,  was  a  species  of  pine,  uni- 
formly about  one  foot  stumpage,  and  reaching,  mast-like,  to  the 
altitude  of  sixty  feet.  Between  these  were  scrub  oaks  four  to 
six  inches  in  diameter,  making  the  thicket  so  dense  that  to  ride 
a  horse  through  it  would  have  been  difficult. 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  I,  "as  rather  a  strange  fact,  that  those 
pines  are  all  the  same  size.  What  species  are  they?" 

"Those,"  replied  my  friend,  "are  what  we  call  old  field 
pine.  You  asked  me  back  there  how  land  could  be  so  com- 
pletely worn  out;  here  we  have  an  example.  That  piece  of 
land  was  cleared,  may  be,  IOO  years  ago.  It  was  then  worked  in 
corn,  corn,  nothing  but  corn,  for  may  be  twenty  years,  or  more; 
not  a  drop  of  anything  put  on.  It  was  then  completely  worked 
out,  and  turned  public  to  grow  up  in  timber  again.  Now  it 
has  been  shaded  and  catching  leaves  for  many  a  year,  and  has 
got  some  nutriment  on  top.  They  will  work  it  in  corn  or 
wheat  till  there's  no  substance  left.  The  bottom  was  all  taken 
out  by  the  first  working,  and  there  will  be  nothing  left  to  make 
a  growth  of  trees  a  second  time.  When  they  get  it  worked  out 
this  time,  its  gone  forever ;  over  here  on  this  side  is  a  specimen. 
That  field  was  cleared  a  second  time  ten  years  ago ;  now  you 
see  it  won't  hardly  raise  Japan  clover,  and  never  will." 

' :  Don't  you  try  to  sell  these  old  fields,  and  old  field  forests, 


178  Natural  Resources. 

to  men  who  come  in  here  from  abroad  to   make  purchases?"  I 
inquired. 

"Well,  it's  natural  for  us  to  get  something  out  of  this  waste 
when  we  get  the  chance.  But  you've  traveled  in  these  parts, 
and  seen  large  bodies  of  good  land  to  be  bought  at  low  figures, 
and  you  may  say  that  anybody  that  comes  here  will  be  treated 
right." 

"Suppose,"  said  I,  "that  on  these  better  tracts  Yankee 
methods  should  be  adopted — after  every  few  years  of  cultivation, 
seed  the  land  down  to  grass,  which  feed  to  stock  in  barns ;  feed 
your  corn  fodder  steamed,  and  use  your  wheat  and  oats  straw 
for  stable  bedding.  In  that  way  almost  all  the  vegetation  taken 
off  the  soil  is  returned  in  a  decomposed  and  enriched  form. " 

"Generally  speaking,"  said  my  companion,  "I  have  little  faith 
in  Yankee  ways  in  the  South.  I  used  to  have  a  plantation  in 
the  low  country,  and  have  seen  lots  of  those  fellows  come  down 
with  nickel-plated  harness  and  steel  plows.  Most  of  them 
would  begin  to  cultivate  our  friendship  by  telling  us  we  didn't 
know  anything  about  our  business.  But  we  noticed  that  they 
all  had  to  come  to  our  ways,  or  sell  out.  The  idea  of  Northern 
newspapers,  that  our  plantations  before  the  war  were  not  worked 
systemically,  is  a  mistake.  Still  I  think  your  idea  of  farming  in 
this  elevated  country  is  correct.  You  see  here,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  long,  rigid  winters,  the  climate  is  essentially  northern, 
owing  to  our  elevation.  Every  experiment  at  improved  farming 
has  been  successful,  though  very  few  have  been  made." 

We  were  reminded  by  this  of  a  story  told  by  General  Cling- 
man,  of  Asheville,  at  the  expense  of  an  intelligent  citizen  of 
Buncombe  county,  whose  residence  was  .on  Beetree  creek,  a 
branch  of  the  Swanannoa.  "  As  the  surface  of  the  stream  was 
almost  level  with  the  surface  of  the  ground,  my  fellow-citi- 
zen," says  Clingman,  "being  of  good  intellect  and  general 
reading,  saw  on  reflection  that  he  could  with  little  trouble 


Stable  Cleaning  a  la  Hereules.  ijg 

utilize  its  waters.  He  constructed  his  stable  just  as  near  to  it 
as  possible,  and  then  cut  a  slight  ditch  to  the  stream,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  hastily  made  gate  of  boards,  he  could  at  will  let  the 
water  into  his  stable.  When,  therefore,  his  stable  became 
rather  full  of  manure,  he  had  only  to  turn  his  horses  on  the 
pasture  for  a  day,  raise  his  little  gate,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
stream  of  water  was  carrying  everything  away,  and  left  the 
stable  much  cleaner  than  it  would  have  been  had  he  used  a 
mattock  and  spade.  His  neighbors  all  admired  his  ingenuity 
in  being  able  to  devise  such  a  labor-saving  operation." 

Watauga  is  the  highest  county  of  the  Appalachians.  Few 
of  its  valleys  dip  below  3,000  feet  above  tide  level,  while  a 
few  peaks  of  its  boundary  chains  lift  to  about  6,000.  The 
spurs  projecting  into  this  highland  basin  are  neither  high  nor 
abrupt,  and  the  ascent  from  the  interior  to  the  crest  of  the 
great  chains  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  the  Yellow  mountain  and  the 
Stone  and  Iron,  is  at  places  so  gradual  as  to  be  imperceptible. 
The  bottoms  along  the  Watagua  river  and  its  many  branches, 
and  along  the  New  river  and  its  branches  in  Watauga  and 
Ashe  counties,  are  well  adapted  to  almost  all  the  cereals,  to 
vegetable  roots,  and  to  the  hardier  varieties  of  fruits.  Ashe 
county  bears  a  general  resemblance  to  Watagua,  but  is  about 
1,000  feet  lower,  and  consequently  warmer.  The  climate  of  both 
counties  is  almost  identical  with  the  famous  butter  and  cheese 
districts  of  central  and  western  New  York.  Indeed,  few  sec- 
tions of  the  eastern  part  of  the  United  States  are  more  inviting 
for  stock  raising  and  dairying.  All  the  heavy  mountain  ranges 
of  the  southern  Alleghanies  furnish  a  large  amount  of  wild  veg- 
etation nutritive  for  alrnost  all  kinds  of  domestic  animals.  The 
lofty  tops  are  heavily  sodded.  Being  cool  and  well  watered, 
they  are  unsurpassed  as  pastures  during  at  least  seven  months 
in  the  year.  Stock  in  some  localities  has  been  known  to  sub- 
sist upon  them  during  the  entire  year,  but  no  prudent  ranger 


180  Natural  Resources. 

will  fail  to  provide  for  his  cattle  and  horses  at  least  three 
months'  feed  and  two  months'  valley  pasture.  Sheep  cannot 
with  safety  be  turned  out  on  the  distant  mountain  range,  but 
in  most  localities  they  will  find  abundant  subsistance  upon  the 
nearer  slopes.  Almost  anywhere  on  the  luxurious  uplands 
a  coat  would  think  himself  in  a  paradise.  A  gentleman  of 
large  experience  in  the  stock  business  in  Ashe  county  informed 
the  writer  that  most  failures  result  from  an  attempt  to  keep 
larger  herds  than  the  valleys  will  sustain.  Experience  had 
taught  him  that  it  is  never  safe  to  multiply  the  number  of 
horses  and  cattle  beyond  the  number  of  acres  of  tillable  valley 
land,  while  twice  that  number  of  sheep  can  be  kept.  The 
mountain  slopes,  however,  now  almost  a  waste  of  woodland,  are 
fertile,  and  might  be  reduced,  at  small  outlay,  to  valuable  pas- 
tures, and  thus  the  capacity  of  the  country  increased  tenfold. 
These  slopes  are  not,  as  in  most  mountain  countries,  rocky  and 
broken  by  exposed  ledges.  To  the  very  top  there  is  a  heavy 
covering  of  earth,  surfaced  by  a  black  vegetable  mold,  which 
only  needs  the  assistance  of  sunlight  to  bring  forth  grass  in  pro- 
fusion. By  simply  grubbing  out  the  undergrowth  and  deaden- 
ing the  large  trees,  the  capacity  for  stock,  of  almost  any  locality 
of  the-  trans-Blue  Ridge  portion  of  North  Carolina,  could  be 
quadrupled.  The  price  of  valley  land  in  Ashe,  Alleghany  and 
Watauga  counties  ranges  from  ten  to  fifteen  dollars  per  acre. 
The  mountains  are  purchasable  at  prices  ranging  from  forty 
cents  to  three  dollars  per  acre,  the  average  price  for  any  large 
tract  being  about  one  dollar. 

The  writer  knows  of  only  two  large  ventures  having  been 
made  in  sheep  raising ;  one  in  Haywood  county,  and  the  other 
in  Graham.  They  both  resulted  in  total  failure,  due,  however, 
wholly  to  the  inexperience  of  the  operators,  or  ignorance  of 
the  shepherds  employed  by  them.  In  the  first  instance,  inade- 
quate valley  pasturage  had  been  provided,  upon  which  to  sup- 


Stock- Raising.  181 

port  a  flock  of  about  500  sheep  during  the  few  cold  months  of 
the  winter.  The  flock,  through  exposure  and  scanty  feed,  be- 
came so  reduced  in  number,  before  the  opening  of  an  early 
spring,  that  its  owner  abandoned  his  project. 

In  Graham  county,  a  northern  gentleman  having  purchased 
the  largest  and  one  of  the  finest  farms  in  that  locality,  discov- 
ering that  the  surrounding  range  was  admirably  adapted  for 
sheep  raising,  on  a  large  scale,  shipped  in  a  flock  of  800  merino 
sheep.  They  were  ill  attended  by  ignorant  shepherds,  and  all 
of  them  soon  died. 

Through  care  in  the  purchase  of  a  valley  farm,  adjacent  to 
fair  upland,  and  bald,  mountain-summit  pastures,  and  in  the 
matter  of  selecting  competent  hands,  together  with  some  per- 
sonal attention  to  the  business  on  the  part  of  the  operator, 
there  is  no  reason  why  large  profits  might  not  flow  from  a  ven- 
ture in  this  line. 

The  remarks  upon  stock-raising  in  Watauga  and  Ashe 
counties,  will  apply  in  general  to  every  other  county  of  the 
intermontane  division  of  the  state,  though,  of  course,  some 
counties  are  more  favored  than  others;  and  the  natural  conditions 
vary  in  detail  in  each.  Yancey  and  Mitchell  have  large  tracts 
adapted  to  this  industry.  The  experiment  of  raising  tobacco 
has  been  found  successful  in  the  lower  and  more  sandy  portions 
of  Mitchell.  This  remunerative  crop  is  no  longer  an  experi- 
ment in  Yancey,  the  soil  and  climate  in  the  western  part  being 
well  adapted  to  it.  «, 

The  French  Broad  valley,  from  an  agricultural  point  of  view, 
is  deserving  of  special  attention.  The  territory  embraced  is 
divided  into  four  counties — Madison,  Buncombe,  Henderson, 
and  Transylvania. 

I  was  riding  with  a  friend  one  afternoon  in  September,  through 
the  canon  of  the  French  Broad.  We  were  occupying  the  steps 
to  the  back  platform  of  the  last  car,  feasting,  for  the  twentieth 


182 


Natural  Resources. 


time,  upon  the  ever-changing  display  of  beauty.  "This, "  said 
my  friend,  interrupting  the  silence,  ' '  is  all  very  impressive.  No 
one,  whose  feelings  have  any  communion  with  nature,  can 
escape  the  charm  of  these  bold  precipices,  robed  with  vines 
and  crowned  with  golden  forest.  These  curves  are  the  material- 
ization of  beauty.  That  surging,  dash- 
ing, foaming,  torrent,  gradually  eroding 
its  channel  deeper  into  the 
adamantine  granite,  is  a 
grand  demonstration  of  the 
superiority  of  force  over 
matter.  The  great  draw- 
back to  this  valley  is  its 
poverty  of  useful  pro- 
ductions. Western 
North  Carolina,  it 
strikes  me, 
may  be  com- 
great  p  i  c- 
we  never  fail 
pi  e  a  s  u  r  e 
there  is  noth- 
make  money 
even  to  fur- 
spectable  liv- 
the  scenery 
that  can  pos- 
sired,  and  the 
most  perfect, 
can  never  be 

THE  FRENCH  BROAD  CANON.  more  than  it 

is    now,  except,  perhaps,  in   the  number  and  size   of  its  sum- 
mer hotels.      It  hasn't  the  resources." 


pared     to    a 
tureorpoem; 
to    derive 
from  it,    yet 
ing  in    it  to 
out     of,     or 
nish     a     re- 
ing.      While  ifl 
here     is     all    . 
sibly    be 
climate  is  al- ! 
this   country 
anything 


The   Tobacco  Slopes  of  Madison.  183 

"What  is  the  extent  of  your  knowledge  of  this  country?" 
I  inquired. 

"Oh,  merely  what  I've  seen  from  the  railroad  line,  but  I 
suppose  it's  pretty  much  all  alike." 

My  friend  was  mistaken,  in  supposing  that  the  wealth  of  the 
Southern  Alleghanies  consists  wholly  in  scenery  and  climate. 
He  was  also  mistaken  in  supposing  that  railroad  views  had 
afforded  him  any  considerable  knowledge  of  the  country. 

Madison  county,  back  of  the  river  bluffs,  is  almost  wholly  a 
succession  of  hills,  coves  and  narrow  valleys,  nine-tenths  of  it 
timbered  with  a  heavy  growth  of  hard  and  soft  woods.  The 
slopes  are  remarkable  for  fertility,  there  being  small  particles 
of  lime  percolated  through  the  soil.  The  cultivated  grasses 
grow  rank,  and  the  cereals  yield  satisfactory  harvests.  But 
owing  to  the  limited  area  of  the  valleys,  and  the  almost  entire 
absence  of  level  land,  ordinary  farming  can  never  be  carried 
on  in  Madison  with  remunerative  results.  Too  much  labor  is 
required  to  cultivate  an  acre  of  the  slopes  for  the  ordinary 
return  in  \vheat  or  corn.  It  is  in  tobacco  that  the  Madison 
•county  farmer  has  found  his  Eldorado.  I  know  of  no  industry 
which  offers  so  much  inducement  to  the  poor  laborer  as  the  cul- 
tivation of  this  crop.  There  is  no  staple  product  which  derives 
its  value  so  exclusively  from  labor,  or  yields  to  that  labor  a 
larger  return.  A  few  figures  will  serve  to  illustrate.  Uncleared 
land  can  be  purchased  at  an  average  price  of  $3  per  acre,  in 
small  tracts.  About  one-third  of  the  purchase  will  be  found 
adapted  to  tobacco,  making  the  cost  of  tillable  land  $9  an  acre. 
Basing  our  estimates  upon  the  production  of  the  last  three 
years,  a  yield  of  $200  from  each  acre  planted  may  be  expected. 
In  addition  to  such  other  small  crops  as  are  needed  to  yield 
food  for  his  family,  an  industrious  man  and  two  small  boys  can 
clear,  prepare  the  soil,  and  cultivate  four  and  one-half  acres  a 


184  Natural  Resources. 

year,  which,  if  properly  cured,  will  bring  in  the  market  $900 — 
money  enough  to  pay  for  three  hundred  acres  of  land. 

The  sunny  slopes  are  considered  by  planters  best  adapted  to 
the  crop.  Sand  and  gravel  is  the  needed  composition  of  soil, 
and  a  forest  growth  of  white  pine  indicates  auspicious  conditions. 
The  east  side  of  the  French  Broad  has  been  found  to  have 
more  good  tobacco  land  than  the  west,  but  the  ratio  we  have 
given  is  not  too  great  for  either  side.  The  crop  leaves  the  soil 
in  excellent  condition  for  wheat  and  grass  after  four  years'  cul- 
tivation, though  at  the  present  prices  of  land,  planters  would 
find  it  economical  to  sow  in  wheat  and  seed  to  grass  after  two 
years'  cultivation  in  tobacco.  The  gross  aggregate  of  the  crop 
of  1882  in  Madison  county  will  probably  be  $250,000.  W.  W. 
Rollins,  of  Marshall,  is  extensively  engaged  in  the  business,  the 
number  of  his  tenant  families  being  about  sixty. 

Up  the  river,  into  Buncombe  county,  the  valleys  widen,  and 
the  acreage  of  comparatively  level  land  increases ;  the  settle- 
ment becomes  denser,  and  the  proportion  of  cleared  land  to 
native  forest,  is  greater  than  in  any  county  west  of  the  Blue 
Ridge. 

The  valleys  of  Hominy  creek,  Swanannoa,  and  Upper 
French  Broad,  contain  several  thousand  acres  which  could  be 
cultivated  with  improved  machinery.  The  soil  is  of  average 
fertility — well  adapted  to  the  cereals,  grasses  and  tobacco — but 
in  many  localities  its  capacity  has  been  lowered  by  use  and 
abuse.  Some  valleys,  naturally  fertile,  are  almost  wholly  ex- 
hausted. There  has  been,  however,  marked  improvement,  both 
in  farming  methods  and  farming  machinery,  within  the  last  five 
years. 

Above  Buncombe,  in  the  French  Broad  valley,  are  Henderson 
and  Transylvania  counties,  embraced  within  high  mountain 
chains,  and  formed  of  a  basin-like  territory,  which  bears  some 
evidence  of  having  once  been  a  lake.  It  is  a  surprise,  to  most 


The   Upper  French  Broad.  1 85 

people,  to  find,  within  a  few  miles  of  the  crest  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  a  marsh  of  such  extent  as  exists  in  Henderson  county. 

The  French  Broad  changes  its  character  at  Asheville,  below 
which  place  it  is  a  torrent,  and  above  a  placid,  almost  immobile 
stream,  rising  to  the  slightly  higher  altitude  of  the  .  pper  val- 
ley, in  terraces,  rather  than  by  gradual  ascent.  Its  shallow 
channel  is  bordered  by  alluvial  bottoms — deposits  carried  from 
the  mountain  slopes — varying  in  width  from  a  few  rods  to  five 
miles,  making,  with  a  background  of  mountains  rising  massive- 
ly in  the  distance,  a  landscape  of  surpassing  beauty.  A  con- 
servative estimate  places  the  number  of  acres  of  first  bottom 
land  along  the  upper  valley  of  the  French  Broad  and  its 
tributaries  at  20,000,  and  twice  that  number  of  acres  could  be 
cultivated  with  sulky  plows  and  harvested  with  self-binding 
reapers.  Cane  creek,  followed  by  the  Henderson  and  Bun- 
combe county  line,  drains  considerable  low  land — at  places  near 
its  mouth  almost  marshy.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  French 
Broad  there  is  a  wide  expanse  of  alluvial  land,  cut  by  Mill's 
river,  and  extending  for  a  distance  of  two  miles  up  that  stream, 
where  the  valley  becomes  second  bottom  and  slope. 

Ochlawaha  (Mud  creek,  locally  named)  emptying  into  the 
French  Broad  from  the  east,  like  its  Florida  namesake,  is  a  lazy, 
sluggish  stream.  Its  headsprings  are  in  the  crest  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  all  the  way  from  the  high  Pinnacle  and  Hebron  range  to 
Sugarloaf  and  Bearwallow.  The  immediate  basin  of  the  stream 
from  a  short  distance  below  Flat  Rock,  to  its  mouth,  bears  a 
unique  character,  being  the  only  marsh  in  Western  North  Caro- 
lina. Its- width  varies  from  one  fourth  to  two  miles,  and  its 
length  may  be  estimated  at  ten  miles.  A  rank  growth  of  vege- 
tation is  annually  submerged.  A  soil  of  vegetable  mold  sever- 
al feet  in  depth  has  been  formed.  Recent  surveys  show  that 
the  decline  is  sufficient  to  admit  of  perfect  drainage,  which 


1 86  Natural  Resources. 

would  make  this  one  of  the  most  valuable  agricultural  and  graz- 
ing tracts  in  the  country. 

The  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  Henderson  county,  is  an  un- 
du.ating  plateau,  which  will  not  be  recognized  by  the  traveler 
in  crossing.  The  Saluda  mountains,  beyond  Green  river,  are  the 
boundary  line  of  vision  on  the  south.  The  general  surface  fea- 
tures of  the  central  part  of  this  pearl  of  counties  will  be  best 
seen  by  a  glance  at  the  pictorial  view  from  Dun  Cragin,  near 
Hendersonville. 

Above  the  mouth  of  Ochlawaha  the  bottoms  of  French 
Broad  gradually  widen.  The  foot  hills  being  the  fartherest  dis- 
tance apart  above  the  mouth  of  Little  river,  Boylston  creek, 
Cathey's  creek,  Davidson's  river,  Little  river  and  both  forks  of 
French  Broad  all  have  tempting  valleys.  It  should  be  remarked 
that  a  large  per  centage  of  the  land  in  these  fair  and  fertile  bot- 
toms has  been  badly  worn  by  much  poor  farming,  but  very 
little  is  worn  out,  so  that  there  is  yet  not  only  hope  but  certainty 
of  redemption  by  proper  management.  The  expense  of  re- 
invigorating  exhausted  tracts  is  materially  lightened  by  the  pres- 
ence of  limestone  outcrops. 

As  a  grazing  district  the  upper  French  Broad  has  advantages 
over  any  other  section  of  equal  extent,  though  there  are  else- 
where small  localities  which  surpass  any  portion  of  it.  These 
advantages  are,  extent  of  level  tillable  land  for  hay  and  grain, 
altitude  which  insures  low  temperature  and  healthfulness,  and 
third,  proximity  to  the  best  wild  range  in  the  Balsams  and  Blue 
Ridge.  The  scientific  agriculturist  will  be  able  to  draw  conclu- 
sions from  the  following  recapitulations  of  conditions:  abund- 
ance of  rain,  perfect  drainage,  warm  sun,  cool  breezes,  and  an 
alluvial  soil  with  occasional  outcrops  of  lime  rock. 

All  the  good  grains  produce  well.  Vegetables  grow  to  a 
large  size.  Experiments  in  the  culture  of  tobacco  have  been 
successful  in  the  main,  and  the  industry  may  become  an  import- 


The  Pigeon  Valley.  187 

ant  one.  The  population  is  more  intelligent  than  in  most  rural 
districts.  The  one  great  thing  needed  is  adequate  and  cheap 
transportation  facilities.  One  railroad  taps  this  territory  at 
Hendersonville,  but  more  are  needed.  There  remain  large 
tracts  of  unimproved  lands  which  might  be  reduced  to  a  state 
of  cultivation.  What  is  locally  known  as  the  Pink  Beds,  in  the 
northwestern  part  of  Transylvania,  a  dense  forest  plateau,  is  an 
absolute  wilderness  in  which  a  lost  traveler  might  wander  for 
days  before  finding  his  way  to  a  settlement.  Among  the  spurs 
of  the  Balsam  range  and  Blue  Ridge,  and  in  the  valley  of  Green 
river  there  are  many  thousand  acres  of  forest. 

The  Pigeon  river  in  North  Carolina  is  exclusively  the  property 
of  Haywood  county.  Its  water  sheds  are,  on  the  west  the 
main  chain  of  the  Balsam  range,  and  on  the  south  and  east  the 
Balsams  and  New-found  mountains.  The  political  division 
follows  almost  exactly  this  line.  The  principal  tributaries  of 
the  Pigeon,  each  draining  fine  valleys,  are,  on  the  west  Cata- 
luche,  Jonathan's  creek  and  Richland  creek ;  on  the  east  Fines 
creek.  The  main  channel  is  divided  by  Cold  mountain  into 
two  prongs.  The  valley  of  Pigeon  throughout  its  whole  length 
is  wide  and  undulating,  except  where  it  cuts  its  way  through 
the  Smoky  mountains  into  Tennessee.  Below  the  junction  of 
Richland  creek  the  soil  is  a  mixture  of  sand  and  gravel.  Far- 
ther up  it  partakes  more  of  a  clayey  character.  The  fertility  of 
the  mountains  is  evidenced  by  the  great  size  and  variety  of  the 
forest  growth.  The  ranges  being  high,  the  coves  are  long,  and 
give  to  the  distant  view  from  the  valley  a  peculiarly  pleasing 
effect.  Good  crops  of  corn,  wheat,  oats,  buckwheat,  etc.,  can 
be  raised  almost  to  the  •  crest  of  the  highest  mountains.  The 
Balsams  furnish  more  wild  range  than  any  other  chain.  Hay- 
wood  has  for  many  years  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  best 
wheat  county  in  the  transmontane  portion  of  the  state,  and  with 
proper  cultivation  has  the  capacity  to  sustain  that  reputation. 


1 88  Natural  Resources. 

The  culture  of  tobacco  in  the  northern  and  lower  portion  has 
been  entirely  successful,  and  will  soon  become  an  important 
element  of  industry. 

Across  the  Balsam  range  into  Jackson  and  Swain  counties  we 
recognize  newer  settlements.  This  fact  partially  accounts  for 
sparcer  population  and  less  extensive  tracts  under  cultivation. 
But  a  better  reason  is  found  in  the  more  broken  condition 
of  the  country  and  consequent  narrowness  of  the  valleys.  Of 
the  fertility  of  the  mountains  in  Jackson  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
for  the  trees  are  larger  and  of  finer  texture  than  of  any  other 
locality.  Swain  county  differs  from  Jackson  in  having  more 
river  bottom  land,  a  sandier  soil,  and  a  warmer  climate.  About 
one-third  of  its  territory  is  a  wilderness,  unpenetrated  except 
by  hunters  and  herders.  ,  We  refer  to  the  great  Smoky  moun- 
tain chain  and  its  southward  spurs.  The  valley  of  the  Tucka- 
sege  is  not  wide  but  embraces  many  valuable  farms.  There  is 
nothing  like  a  continuous  stretch  of  bottom  along  its  affluents. 
The  Little  Tennessee  is  bordered  at  places  by  wide  and  fertile 
alluvions.  Swain  county  has  the  conditions  of  soil  and  climate 
requisite  to  the  production  of  the  very  best  quality  of  gold  leaf 
tobacco.  Having  mild  winters,  the  fertile  slopes  of  the  Cowee 
and  Smoky  ranges  might  be  reduced  to  valuable  pastures. 

The  valley  of  the  Tennessee  and  its  branches  placed  Macon 
first  of  the  counties  west  of  the  Balsam  range  in  population  and 
wealth.  With  the  assistance  of  its  valuable  mineral  deposits,  it 
will  probably  be  able  to  maintain  its  position.  Above  Franklin 
wide  bottoms  stretch  from  both  sides  of  the  Little  Tennessee, 
exposing  several  thousand  acres  of  level  surface,  with  a  soil  of 
gravel  and  vegetable  loam,  washed  from  the  neighboring  slopes 
and  higher  altitudes  of  Northern  Georgia.  The  ascent  of  the 
Cullasaja  to  the  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge  is  very  gradual  until  an 
undulating  plateau  of  several  miles  length  and  varying  width  is 
reached.  On  this  plateau  is  the  village  and  settlement  of  High- 


Character  of  Wild  Range.  189 

lands.  If  you  reach  it  from  Franklin,  and  doubt  that  you  are 
on  the  top  of  a  mountain  range  3,700  feet  high,  express  your- 
self to  any  resident  and  in  fifteen  minutes  he  will  have  you 
looking  over  a  precipice  of  1,100  feet,  while  far  below  you  in 
the  blue  distance  waves  the  upper  plain  of  South  Carolina. 
The  climate  of  the  Macon  highlands  is  cool  and  bracing.  The 
showers,  which  are  at  all  seasons  numerous,  are,  however, 
warm,  the  clouds  coming  from  the  heated  low  lands  farther 
south.  Wheat  and  oats  produce  well,  and  corn  yields  a  fair 
harvest.  But  the  most  promising  hope  of  this  section,  agricul- 
turally speaking,  lies  in  dairying  and  stock  raising.  Land  is 
cheap,  and  both  indigenous  and  cultivated  grasses  grow  luxuri- 
antly. 

At  Franklin  the  traveler  will  certainly  hear  of  the  Ellijay, 
whose  valley  is  a  competing  candidate  for  admiration,  with  the 
princely  peaks  which  hide  it  in  their  evening  shadows.  There 
are  some  substantial  improvements  in  the  valley  of  Burning- 
town  creek  The  best  wild  range,  in  Macon  county,  is  in  the 
Nantihala  mountains.  I  was  shown  a  five-year-old  horse  which 
was  born  in  the  mountains,  and  had  "never  received  a  mouth- 
ful of  grain  or  cured  roughness."  Many  farmers  leave  their 
cattle  out  to  range  all  winter.  Sheep  raising  would  be  profit- 
able, if  carried  on  extensively  enough  to  afford  the  employment 
of  a  shepherd.  It  must  not  be  inferred,  from  what  has  been 
repeatedly  said  of  wild  range,  grazing,  and  stock-raising,  that 
the  mountain  slopes,  which  comprise  two-thirds  of  the  surface 
of  the  intermontane  country,  are  covered  with  a  sod  of  indige- 
nous grasses.  They  are  rather  marked  by  the  absence  of 
grasses,  as  all  deep -shaded  forests  are.  It  is  on  the  treeless 
tops  that  cattle  subsist  and  fatten,  the  tufts  under  the  trees 
being  only  occasional,  except  where  a  fallen  tree  or  cliff  has 
made  an  opening  for  heat  and  light  to  enter  There  are  among 


190  Natural  Resources. 

the  trees,  however,  abundance  of  herbs  and  shrubs  upon  which 
sheep  and  goats  would  subsist. 

Of  Clay,  Graham,  and  Cherokee  counties,  little  need  be  said. 
All  the  trans-Balsam  counties  bear  a  general  family  likeness. 
The  valley  of  the  Cheowah,  near  Robbinsville,  is  the  most  at- 
tractive part  of  Graham.  The  valley  of  Hiawassee,  with  its 
tributaries,  Nottelley  and  Valley  river,  belongs  to  the  sixth 
natural  division  of  Western  North  Carolina.  There  is,  in  both 
Cherokee  and  Clay  counties,  a  large  percentage  of  level  land. 
Speculators  have  invested  largely  in  the  former,  mainly  on 
account  of  the  iron  and  marble  deposits  which  lie  exposed. 

Taken  altogether,  the  best  results,  agriculturally,  are  to  be 
obtained  from  the  cultivation  of  the  grasses,  vegetables,  and 
tobacco.  The  cereals  can  never  be  produced  with  profit  be- 
yond the  narrow  limit  of  home  demand. 

The  subject  of  horticulture  is,  in  North  Carolina,  an  import- 
ant one.  Vegetables,  grains,  and  grasses,  of  the  same  variety, 
flourish  in  a  wide  range  of  territory,  but  fruits  are  tender 
darlings  of  climate.  In  regard  to  temperature,  the  heart  of  the 
Alleghanies  is  a  peninsula  of  the  northern  north  temperate 
zone  projecting  into  the  southern.  While  this  fact  has  been 
known,  and  its  advantages  appreciated  for  more  than  half  a 
century,  there  has  been  inexplicable  tardiness  in  utilizing  it. 
How  much  longer  will  the  great  South  continue  to  buy,  in  the 
markets  of  the  North,  what  can  be  produced  more  cheaply  and 
of  better  quality  in  her  own  highland  valleys  ?  The  piedmont 
region  is  adapted  to  a  great  variety  of  semi-temperate  fruits. 
The  persimmon,  grape,  plum,  and  thorned  berries,  are  found, 
wild,  abundantly  everywhere.  Wfe  know  of  no  instance  in 
which  the  cultivated  varieties  of  these  fruits  have  failed,  when 
properly  planted  and  attended.  The  peaches  raised  in  the 
shade  of  the  Blue  Ridge  are  of,  unexcelled  flavor.  They  will 
stand  comparison  with  the  best  Delaware  productions.  Apples 


The  "No- Frost"  Zone.  191 

and  pears  may  be  classed  among  the  piedmont  fruits,  but  the 
former  are  of  better  flavor  on  the  higher  altitudes.  Grapes 
grow  large  and  mature  thoroughly  in  the  cool  dry  month  of 
September.  The  vines  seem  large  and  healthy. 

It  is  only  in  the  lower  valleys  that  peaches  of  good  size  and 
flavor  can  be  raised.  The  plumb,  that  most  difficult  of  all 
fruits  to  protect  from  destruction  by  insects,  grows  on  the 
slopes  to  full  ripeness.  Experiment  with  cultivated  grapes 
has  been  limited,  but  the  luxuriance  and  variety  of  the  wild 
vines,  indicate  a  soil  and  climate  favorable  to  this  industry. 
The  nativity  of  the  Catawba  is  traced  to  this  highland  region, 
and  is  still  found,  side  by  side  with  the  fox  and  blue  wine  grape. 
There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  rural  scenery,  than  these 
luxuriant  vines,  winding  and  entwining  among  the  branches  of 
a  spreading  tree,  until  they  have  completely  smothered  it  in 
their  tendril  grasp. 

The  apple  finds  a  congenial  home  among  these  southern 
mountains.  In  flavor,  and  perfection  of  development,  this 
fruit  will  compare  with  the  choicest  production  of  Michigan. 
The  trees  grow  large  and  healthy  ;  there  are  fewer,  than  in 
most  sections,  of  those  destructive  insects  which  burrow  the 
wood  and  sting  the  fruit.  The  winters  are  never  cold  enough 
to  freeze  the  buds,  and  frost  need  not  be  looked  for  after  the 
blossoming  season,  making  the  crop  much  more  reliable  than 
at  the  North.  Abundance  of  moisture  gives  the  fruit  full  size, 
and  the  autumns  being  cool  and  long,  the  ripening  process  is 
slow  and  natural.  The  whole  mountain  country  is  adapted  to 
apple  orchards.  At  present,  the  upper  French  Broad  valley 
— Henderson  and  Transylvania — excel  all  other  sections,  both 
in  quality  and  quantity.  Tons  of  apples  are  annually  wasted, 
which,  if  carried  to  the  market  at  reasonable  cost  of  transporta- 
tion, would  furnish  no  inconsiderable  revenue. 

Horticulturists  are  just  beginning  to   appreciate  the  advant- 


192  Natural  Resources. 

ages  of  the  thermal  or  "no  frost"  zone.  It  was  Silas  Mc- 
Dowell, of  Macon  county,  who  first  called  attention  to  the 
existence  of  certain  belts  along  the  southern  slope  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  and  projecting  spurs,  wherein  the  fall  of  frost  was  un- 
known, and  the  season  more  than  a  fortnight  earlier  in  spring,  and 
later  in  fall  than  the  adjacent  slope  on  either  side.  So  marked 
is  the  effect  that  a  green  band,  in  early  spring,  seems  to  be 
stretched  across  the  side  of  the  mountain.  The  line  on  both 
sides  is  clearly  defined,  and  does  not  vary  more  than  a  few  feet 
from  year  to  year.  The  scientific  bearings  of  this  singular 
phenomenon  are  intelligently  discussed  by  Mr.  McDowell,  in  a 
paper  published  in  the  Smithsonian  Reports  in  1856.  An  ex- 
planation for  the  existence  of  such  a  belt  is  derived  from  a 
theoretical  knowledge  of  the  directions  and  commingling  of  air 
currents,  determined  by  the  conformation  of  the  slope. 

Sections  of  this  frostless  zone  are  found  on  almost  every  spur 
of  the  main  chain  of  the  Blue  Ridge  from  Catawba  county  to 
Georgia,  the  largest  area  in  any  unbroken  tract  being  on  the 
side  of  Tryon  mountain  in  Polk  county.  Its  economic  value  for 
fruit  and  vegetable  culture  is  inestimable.  Like  conditions  of 
climate  exist  nowhere  on  the  continent.  The  season  is  as  long 
as  in  Southern  Georgia  and  South  Carolina,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  thermometer  never  ranges  higher  than  in  New  York, 
Ohio  or  Michigan.  These  conditions,  for  grapes,  pears,  peaches 
and  apples,  are  perfect.  The  climatic  conditions  with  respect 
to  moisture  are  favorable,  and  in  some  respects  superior  to  fa- 
mous fruit  growing  districts. 

The  forest  growth  of  Western  North  Carolina  is  a  subject  in 
which  there  is  at  present  a  wide  and  growing  interest.  Of  the 
territory  west  of  the  river  Catawba,  more  than  three-fourths  is 
yet  covered  with  the  original  forest.  Almost  every  variety  of 
hard  wood,  indigenous  to  the  eastern  part  of  the  United  States, 
is  found  on  the  piedmont  plain,  or  on  the  mountain  slopes. 


Timber.  193 

Within  a  day's  journey  for  an  ox-team  grow  the  steel-like  per- 
simmon, the  inelastic  hemlock,  and  the  impervious  balsam  fir. 
The  trees  in  most  localities  are  so  thick  as  to  form  an  impene- 
trable shade.  Their  size  and  quality  depend  mainly  upon 
fertility  and  altitude.  While  there  are  poplars  six  feet  in  di- 
ameter, at  the  stump,  and  sixty  feet  to  the  first  limb,  cherries 
four  feet  stumpage,  and  walnuts  eight,  these  are  the  exceptions, 
and  the  ones  that  become  celebrated.  The  thousands  upon 
which  the  operating  lumberman  must  rely  for  his  returns,  are 
of  profitable  size,  but  not  giants,  as  the  uninitiated  might  infer 
from  advertising  circulars  or  occasional  notices  in  the  local 
newspapers. 

Yellow  pine  is  found  in  the  piedmont  region  in  considerable 
size  and  quantity.  The  quality  is  inferior  to  the  best  southern 
pines,  but  it  serves  very  well  for  most  domestic  purposes. 
White  pine  of  superior  grade  and  large  trees  are  found  in  many 
of  the  mountain  valleys,  but  its  growth  can  not  be  said  to  be 
gen*eral  The  regions  likely  to  become  available,  are  in  Madi- 
son county,  Haywood  and  Swain.  The  largest  white  pines  in 
the  state  are  in  the  latter  county  on  the  banks  of  Larkie  creek. 

Oaks,  of  almost  every  variety,  abound  everywhere.  It  is 
the  boast  of  the  state  that  nineteen  of  the  twenty  species  of 
oak  are  found  within  her  territory;  at  least  fourteen  are  found 
west  of  the  Catawba  river.  The  common  white  oak,  which  is 
the  most  valuable,  grows  in  every  valley  and  cove  lower  than 
4,000  feet,  and,  in  solidity  and  tenacity,  is  far  superior  to  the 
growth  of  lower  altitudes.  The  same  is  true  of  ash  and  hick- 
ory, which  abound  everywhere.  The  white  hickory  of  the 
piedmont  plains  is  being  already  purchased,  and  manufactured 
into  spokes  and  handles.  The  white  ash  of  the  mountain  val- 
leys has  a  fine  grain  and  firm  texture.  The  best  growth  may 
be  looked  for  in  the  dark  coves.  North  Carolina  hickory  com- 
mands a  ready  market,  large  quantities  being  consumed  by  the 


194  Natural  Resources. 

export  trade.  The  factory  at  Greensboro  draws  a  large  percent- 
age of  its  supplies  from  the  western  section. 

Black  walnut,  here,  as  elsewhere,  was  the  first  wood  hunted 
out  by  speculators.  But  few  trees  remain  within  available 
reach  of  transportation  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  those  in 
the  western  counties  which  are  yet  standing,  have  been  sold  to 
speculators.  More  than  twenty  million  feet  of  walnut  timber 
have  changed  ownership  since  1880.  As  fast  as  the  railroad 
creeps  through  the  valley  toward  its  western  terminus,  these 
princes  of  the  forest  are  being  reduced  to  lumber  and  shipped 
to  northeastern  markets.  In  quality,  southern  mountain  wal- 
nut takes  high  rank ;  in  size,  it  compares  with  the  trees  of  the 
flat-lands  of  the  north.  A  tree  was  cut  in  Haywood  county  re- 
cently which  measured  over  eight  feet  across  the  stump,  and 
forty-seven  to  the  first  limb.  Four  feet  stumpage  is  not  an 
extraordinary  size. 

The  predominant  growth  of  the  mountains,  both  in  the  pied- 
mont and  trans-Blue  Ridge  sections,  is  chestnut.  On  some 
ridges  it  is  almost  the  exclusive  growth,  but  occurs,  in  dimin- 
ished numbers,  though  increased  size,  in  the  dark  coves.  The 
great  trees  are  of  no  value,  except  for  rails,  fire-wood,  and 
charcoal ;  the  young  and  vigorous  are  of  greater  value  as  a  cabi- 
net wood,  and  for  house  finishing.  Tons  of  nuts  fall  to  the 
ground  annually.  The  mountain  farmer,  in  fact,  relies  upon 
the  chestnut  as  a  staple  food  for  his  hogs.  In  addition  to  its 
uses,  the  chestnut  tree  is  a  factor  in  giving  character  to  the 
landscape.  Its  creamy  bloom  blends  beautifully  with  the  mel- 
low pink  of  the  kalmia,  and  brilliant  scarlet  of  the  rhododen- 
dron. 

Next  to  the  chestnut  in  the  glory  of  its  bloom,  comes  the 
locust.  This  tree,  as  a  scattered  growth,  may  be  found  almost 
everywhere.  It  grows  tall  and  symmetrical,  and  ranges  in  diam- 
eter from  six  inches  to  two  feet.  Locust  is  a  valuable  commer- 


Forests  for  the  Manufacturer.  195 

cial  wood.  It  is  little  effected  by  dampness  or  earth,  and  is 
consequently  used  for  fence  posts,  and  in  ship-building  exten- 
sively. It  is  also  used  in  the  manufacture  of  heavy  wagons,  for 
hubs. 

Poplars  in  the  Southern  Alleghanies  attain  great  size  and  in 
symmetry  of  form  excel  all  other  trees.  The  use  of  its  lumber 
are  almost  as  varied  as  oak,  and  being  somewhat  scarcer,  it  com- 
mands a  higher  price  in  the  market.  It  is  found  on  almost 
every  slope  and  in  every  valley.  The  poplar  blossom  contains 
more  sugar  than  the  bloom  of  any  other  forest  tree.  The  bee 
keeper  among  the  Alleghanies  can  always  rely  on  well  filled 
honey  combs. 

Black  birch  is  a  wood  just  beginning  to  receive  the  attention 
of  manufacturers,  and  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  it  will 
take  a  high  place  among  cabinet  woods.  The  rapid  consump- 
tion of  walnut  is  warning  far-seeing  lumbermen  to  cast  about 
for  a  substitute.  Black  gum  and  black  birch  seem  to  be  the 
most  available  candidates.  There  are  several  varieties  of  birch, 
but  none  equals  the  product  of  the  Southern  Alleghanies  in 
beauty  of  grain  or  richness  of  color.  It  is  mainly  a  cove  growth, 
and  attains  to  workable  size.  Black  gum  is  found,  but  only  as 
isolated  trees. 

Cherry,  which  of  American  woods  for  ornamental  purposes, 
is  second  only  to  walnut,  is  found  in  some  sections  of  the 
mountain  regions  in  great  abundance.  The  Smoky  range, 
together  with  its  projecting  spurs  from  the  Virginia  line  south, 
is  noted  for  the  size  of  its  cherry  forests.  The  vicinity  of  Roan 
mountain  and  the  headwaters  of  the  Ocona  Lufta  excel  all 
other  sections.  The  high  coves  of  the  Balsam  range  also  con- 
tain large  and  valuable  trees. 

Maple,  linn,  sycamore,  cucumber,  mulberry,  sassafras,  dog- 
wood, sourwood,  gopher,  and  buckeye  is  a  partial  list  of  the 
remaining  deciduous  trees. 


196  Natural  Resources. 

Above  all,  enveloping  the  summits  of  the  highest  ranges  in 
impenetrable  shade,  silent  and  somber,  stand  forests  of  balsam 
fir.  The  general  character  of  these  dense,  dark  thickets  is 
described  elsewhere.  The  wood  itself  remains  briefly  to  be 
spoken  of.  The  fir  of  the  North  Carolina  Alleghanies  differs 
from  the  species  in  the  far  north,  both  in  the  size  of  the  tree 
and  in  the  smoothness  and  density  of  the  wood.  It  may  be 
looked  for  in  the  three  localities,  each,  however,  embracing  a 
large  area  of  territory — the  culmination  of  the  Balsams  at  the 
corners  ,of  Haywood,  Transylvania  and  Jackson  ;  on  the  great 
Smoky  chain,  and  within  the  ellipse  of  the  Blacks.  The 
"female  tree,"  which  is  cone  shaped  and  has  limbs  to  the 
grounds,  is  worthless  except  for  the  resin  of  the  blister  drawn  out 
by  puncturing  the  bark  at  a  certain  season  of  the  year,  and  used 
as  the  base  of  medicinal  preparation.  The  ''male  tree"  grows 
to  a  diameter  of  two  feet,,  and  has  a  straight,  clear  trunk  to 
the  length  of  thirty  to  sixty  feet.  The  wood  is  straight,  fine 
grained,  firm,  and  unelastic.  It  is  highly  charged  with  acetic 
sap,  which  makes. the  green  lumber  very  heavy.  When  dried 
it  becomes  light — lighter  than  white  pine.  -In  color  it  is  as 
white  as  the  paper  on  which  this  is  printed,  and  the  density 
'and  firmness  of  the  grain  makes  it  susceptible  of  high  polish. 
The  same  structure  renders  it  impervious  to  water.  The  writer 
was  shown  a  churn  made  of  balsam  staves  which  had  been  in 
use  for  thirty  years.  The  wood  under  the  surface  was  not  even 
stained.  This  wood  has  received  no  attention  from  wood  man- 
ufacturers, but  it  may  some  time  be  valuable  for  ship-building, 
buckets,  and  for  house-finishing.  For  the  latter  purpose  it  will 
rival  in  color  and  surface  the  world-famed  satin  wood  of  Cali- 
fornia. 

The  arborescent  kalmia  and  rhododendron,  which  grow  along 
almost  every  mountain  stream,  have  a  practical  use.  The  ivy  and 
laurel,  as  they  are  locally  called,  attain,  in  some  of  the  fertile  coves, 


Minerals.  197 

a  diameter  of  three  inches,  and  the  roots  are  even  larger. 
Their  graceful  crooks  and  turns  and  bulbous,  burly  roots,  make 
them  exceptionally  fine  timber  for  all  kinds  of  rustic  devices — 
fences,  flower  urns,  chairs,  etc.  The  wood  can  be  worked  only 
when  green ;  dried,  it  becomes  as  hard  as  bone.  Its  density, 
hardness,  and  mottled  grain,  make  it  a  valuable  wood  for  pipe 
bowls  and  knobs,  also  for  light  tool  handles  and  shuttles.  No 
use  is  made  of  these  shrubs  at  present,  except  for  rustic  furni- 
ture. 

At  present,  Hickory  manufactures  more  lumber  than  any 
other  town  in  the  state  west  of  the  Catawba.  Highlands,  on 
the  Blue  Ridge,  probably  deserves  the  second  place,  though 
the  industry  is  only  in  its  infancy.  We  have  no  hesitancy  in 
saying  that  the  forests  in  the  western  section  are  intrinsically 
more  valuable  than  in  the  middle  belt  of  North  Carolina,  or  in 
any  part  of  South  Carolina.  Five  thousand  square  miles  of 
area  are  awaiting  enterprising  dealers  and  manufacturers  in 
wood.  Capital,  transportation  inducements,  and  business 
capacity,  aided  by  mechanical  skill,  are  needed — three  requisites 
to  the  development  of  a  great  industry,  with  which  the  region 
can  be  supplied  only  from  abroad. 

Thus  far  this  sketch  has  been  written  mainly  from  personal 
observation.  We  now  come  to  a  subject,  however,  in  the  treat- 
ment of  which  authorized  publications  and  the  investigations  of 
other  individuals  must  be  relied  upon.  Our  errors  in  what 
shall  be  said  upon  the  subject  of  mineralogy  will  be  errors  of 
omission.  There  has  never  been  anything  like  a  systematic 
exploration  of  the  Southern  Alleghanies.  This  statement  will 
surprise  no  one  familiar  with  the  country,  for  such  a  task  would 
involve  years  of  expensive  labor,  an  investment  which  the 
state  legislature  has  never  shown  an  enthusiastic  willingness 
to  make.  We  might  quote  a  page  of  axioms  applicable  to 
this  subject.  "What  is  worth  doing,  is  worth  doing  well," 


198  Natural  Resources. 

"The  most  economy  is  sometimes  the  greatest  folly."  But  we 
forbear  the  repetition  of  platitudes.  The  state  publications  tell 
us,  with  well-founded  pride,  that  North  Carolina  was  the  first 
government  in  America  to  order  a  geological  survey.  Can  she, 
on  that  account,  afford  to  be  the  last  state  to  publish  a  full  ex- 
position of  her  geological  structure  and  mineral  resources?  Pri- 
vate enterprise,  however,  is  annually  adding  to  the  stock  of 
information,  and  gradually  the  general  character  of  mineral  de- 
posits is  becoming  known.  We  were  told  by  many  a  hostess 
during  our  rambles  that  she  ' '  had  kep'  a  powerful  site  of  them 
rock-hunters."  The  mineral  excitement  was  highest  from  1872 
to  1875.  Mr.  King,  in  a  paper  published  in  Scribner's  Monthly, 
descriptive  of  a  trip  through  the  mountains  in  1874,  says: 

"  Wherever  we  went  we  found  the  'rock 'hunters'  had  been  ahead  of  us,  and  a  halt  by 
the  wayside  at  noon  would  generally  bring  us  to  some  denizen  of  the  neighborhood  who 
would  say  'Good  mornin',  gentlemen;  after  rocks?'  And  then  would  produce  from  his 
pockets  some  specimens,  which  he  was  'mighty  certain  he  did'nt  know  the  name  of. ' 
Many  a  farmer  had  caught  the  then  prevalent  mica  fever,  and  some  had  really  found 
deposits  of  that  valuable  mineral  which  were  worth  thousands  of  dollars.  There  is  no 
danger  of  over-estimating  the  mineral  wealth  of  this  mountain  country;  it  is  unbounded. 
There  are  stores  of  gold,  silver,  iron,  copper,  zinc,  corundum,  coal,  alum,  copperas,  bar- 
ytes,  and  marl,  which  seem  limitless.  There  are  fine  marble  and  limestone  quarries, 
whose  value  was  unsuspected,  until  the  railroad  pioneer  unearthed  it.  The  limestone 
belt  of  Cherokee  county  contains  stores  of  marble,  iron,  and  gold;  Jackson  county 
possesses  a  vast  copper  belt,  and  the  iron  beds  of  the  Yeliow  mountains  are  attracting 
much  notice.  The  two  most  remarkable  gold  regions  are  in  Cherokee  and  Jackson  coun- 
ties. The  valley  river  sands  have  been  made  in  former  times  to  yield  handsomely,  and 
now  and  then  good  washings  have  been  found  along  its  tributaries.  The  gold  is  found  in 
various  and  superficial  deposits  in  the  same  body  of  slates  which  carries  limestone  and 
iron.  Before  the  war  liberal  arrangements  had  been  made  for  mining  in  Cherokee,  but 
since  the  struggle  the  works  remain  incomplete.  It  is  supposed  that  the  gold  belt  con- 
tinues southward  across  the  country,  as  other  mines  are  found  in  the  edge  of  Georgia. 
The  gold  in  Jackson  county  is  obtained  from  washings  along  the  southern  slopesjof  the  Blue 
Ridge,  near  the  mountains  known  as  'Hogback  '  and  '  Chimney  Top/  and  Georgetown 
creek,  one  of  the  head  streams  of  Toxaway,  yielded  several  thousand  dollars  a  few  years 
ago.  In  this  wild  country,  where  the  passes  of  the  Blue  Ridge  rise  precipitously  eight 
hundred  and  a  thousand  feet,  there  lie  great  stores  of  gold.  Overman ,  the  metallurgist, 
unhesitatingly  declares  that  he  believes  a  second  California  lies  hidden  in  these  rocky 
walls.  The  monarch  mountain  '  Whiteside  '  is  also  said  to  be  rich  in  gold." 

We  are  of  the  opinion  that  Mr.  King  overestimated  the  value 


Early  Exploring  Expeditions.  199 

of  the  mineral  deposits  to  which  he  has  here  referred,  having 
been  somewhat  misled  by  the  prevalent  excitement  of  the  time, 
though  of  course  there  is  no  telling  what  may  be  concealed  in 
the  hidden  fissures  of  these  mighty  masses  of  uplifted  granite. 
While  it  is  not  probable  that  a  second  California  or  Colorado 
exists  in  this  section  of  the  Alleghanies,  there  is  sufficient  evi- 
dence in  the  things  seen,  and  the  hope  of  things  unseen,  to 
stimulate  the  zeal  of  explorers  and  excite  the  cupidity  of  oper- 
ators. The  value  of  minerals,  already  taken  out,  has  passed 
the  enumeration  of  thousands,  and  the  surface  of  the  jewel- 
field  has  not  yet  been  marked  out.  About  160  minerals,  simple 
and  compound,  have  been  found  within  the  region  of  which 
this  volume  professes  to  treat.  Many  of  them  are  extremely 
rare,  some  of  them  of  great  economic  value.  What  we  shall 
say  in  this  connection,  is  for  the  information  and  interest  of  the 
general  reader.  The  scientist  will  derive  his  information  from 
the  technical  pages  of  special  publications.  But  the  explorer, 
who  goes  ahead  of  him,  will  do  better  service  by  opening  the 
great  book  of  nature,  and  exposing  to  the  world  its  unknown 
treasures. 

There  is  written  evidence  that  the  followers  of  DeSoto  made 
an  exploring  expedition  into  the  Cherokee  country,  in  search 
of  gold.  Whether  or  not  they  reached  the  mountains  of  North 
Carolina,  is  unknown.  They  were  probably  led  to  search  for 
the  metal  in  this  locality,  by  the  ornaments  worn  by  the  Indians, 
or  information  derived  from  them.  Late  in  the  last  century, 
the  Cherokees  had  preserved  a  tradition  of  a  very  valuable  silver 
mine,  in  the  Smoky  mountains.  They  also  found  stones  "of 
various  colour  and  beautiful  lustre,  clear  and  very  hard." 

About  1827,  was  the  date  of  the  gold  excitement  in  Meck- 
lenburg county,  from  which  it  spread  to,  and  both  ways  along, 
the  Blue  Ridge.  The  discovery  of  this  metal  in  Burke  county, 
was  an  accident.  In  a  little  valley  at  the  foot  of  the  South 


2OO  Natural  Resources. 

mountains,  about  twelve  miles  from  Morgan  ton,  on  the  way  to 
Rutherfordton,  lived  an  old  gentleman  named  Brindle.  A 
traveler  stopped  at  his  house  one  night,  and  told  the  story  of 
the  discovery  of  gold  in  Mecklenburg,  astonished  the  family, 
particularly  by  his  account  of  its  great  value,  and  the  char- 
acter of  the  metal.  Mrs.  Brindle,  who  had,  in  the  meantime, 
been  an  attentive  listener,  finally  interrupted:  "I  took  a 
stone,  powerful  like  that,  from  a  chicken's  crop  yisterday.  I 
'lowed  it  was  so  curious,  I  laid  it  up."  She  thereupon  produced 
a  piece,  the  size  of  a  pea,  of  pure  gold.  The  traveler,  of 
course,  was  quick  to  see  how  the  precious  stone  had  got  into 
the  chicken's  crop,  and  reasoned  that  there  must  be  more  where 
that  one  came  from. 

The  Brindletown  mines,  as  the  diggings  in  this  locality  have 
since  been  known,  have  yielded  many  thousands  of  dollars, 
obtained  merely  by  washing  the  sand  and  gravel.  Quartz,  con- 
taining a,  very  large  percentage  of  gold,  has  been  found  in  these 
south  mountain  spurs  and  valleys.  The  practical  difficulty  ex- 
perienced by  miners,  is  the  incontinuity  of  veins,  for  which  even 
the  richness  of  the  gold  deposit,  where  it  is  found,  does  not 
compensate.  Upon  the  whole,  at  Brindletown,  the  best  results 
have  been  obtained  from  washings  of  the  drift  deposits.  Colonel 
Mills  is,  at  present,  the  largest  operator.  The  region  includes 
a  tract  taking  in  the  corners  of  McDowell,  Burke,  Rutherford, 
and  Cleveland.  Gold  is  found  in  the  washings  of  the  First 
Broad  below  Shelby ;  in  Polk,  at  Sandy  Plains,  Merrill's  mills, 
Hungry  river,  Pacolet  river,  and  other  places.  Rutherford 
county  is  rich  in  gold.  Along  the  John's  river,  in  Burke,  there 
are  prospects  which  are  favorable  to  an  extensive  mining  indus- 
try. The  placers  also  follow  Lower  creek  into  Caldwell  county, 
It  occurs  in  placers  and  veins  in  Catawba,  and  in  placers  in 
Watauga,  Ashe,  and  Alleghany.  It  must  not  be  understood 
that  mines  are  being  operated  everywhere  gold  is  found.  In 


The  Gold  Zone.  20 1 

fact,  there  are  very  few  places  where  anything  is  being  done, 
and  the  work  at  other  places  is  carried  on  in  a  very  primitive 
fashion. 

In  the  French  Broad  valley  gold  exists  in  placers  and  veins 
near  the  warm  springs  ;  on  Cane  creek,  and  elsewhere  in  Bun- 
combe, and  in  placers  on  Boylston  creek,  in  Transylvania. 
Further  exploration  of  the  upper  French  Broad  valley  will 
undoubtedly  discover  other  localities.  In  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Tennessee,  gold  has  been  found  near  the  Ocona  Lufta 
river,  and  on  Soco  creek,  in  Swain  county;  at  the  head  of  the 
Tuckasege,  in  Jackson  ;  in  the  vicinity  of  Highlands,  and  on 
Briertown  creek,  in  Macon  ;  and  in  Graham.  Beyond  the  water- 
shed, in  Jackson  county,  is  a  region  rich  in  gold.  In  the  Horse 
cove,  or  Sequilla  valley,  a  few  years  ago,  a  hand  could  pan  out  two 
to  five  dollars  per  day.  It  has  never  been  found  or  even  looked 
for  except  in  placers  The  zone  runs  across  Cashier's  valley 
into  the  Georgetown  and  Fairfield  valleys.  Its  existence,  in 
quartz  veins,  near  Chimney  Top  mountain,  is  well  established. 
The  deposits  in  Georgetown  valley  have  yielded  more  largely 
than  any  other  locality  in  this  region.  The  zone  seems  to  pass 
around  the  southern  base  of  Hogback  mountain,  thence  across 
the  Blue  Ridge  into  Transylvania,  making  its  appearance,  as  has 
been  noted,  on  Boylston  creek  We  are  indebted  to  the  Rev. 
C.  D.  Smith,  of  Franklin,  for  the  following  incident : 

Several  years  ago,  in  Hogback  mountain,  deposits  of  gold 
were  discovered  in  a  ravine,  which  were  worked  up  to  a  spring 
pouring  over  the  rocks.  It  was  noticed  that  gold  came  up  in 
the  sands  from  the  spring.  In  order  to  pan  these  daily  deposits, 
a  basin  was  formed,  'and  rich  yields  resulted.  However,  the 
miners  became  impatient;  and,  naturally  inferring  that  the 
source  of  the  gold  was  a  solid  vein,  they  applied  a  heavy  blast, 
which  scattered  the  rocks,  and  provided  an  outlet  for  the  water, 
for  the  spring  with  its  gold  ceased  flowing.  No  vein  was  dis- 


2O2  Natural  Resources. 

covereh.  They  "had  killed  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden  eggs." 
Mica  has  yielded  more  money  to  this  mountain  region  than  any 
other  of  her  store  of  minerals.  The  zone  follows  almost  the 
direction  of  die  Blue  Ridge.  Productive  mica  veins  are  found 
only  in  granite  dikes,  and  when  the  mica  zone  is  spoken  of  the 
zone  of  these  dikes  is  meant.  There  are  exposures  of  mica 
outside  the  belt,  but  no  productive  mines  have  yet  been  found. 
Neither  can  all  dikes  be  relied  upon,  for  they  may  be  filled  with 
barren  matter  or  the  crystals  may  be  too  small  for  use.  There 
seems  to  be  a  law  of  size  which  holds  good  throughout  the 
vein,  and  by  which  proprietors  are  guided.  Other  dike  depos- 
its, again,  are  all  that  could  be  desired  in  respect  to  size  and 
quality  but  the  mica  is  worthless,  either  because  of  imperfect 
crystalization  making  it  gnarled  and  gummy,  or  it  is  spotted  by 
magnetite,  some  of  it  in  the  form  of  very  beautiful  clusters  of 
vines  and  ferns.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  mica  veins 
which  have  yielded  the  best  returns  bear  evidences  of  ancient 
work.  The  Clarissa  Buchanan  mine,  in  Mitchell  ;  the  Ray 
mine,  in  Yancey ;  and  the  Bowers  mine,  in  Macon,  were  opera- 
ted by  the  much-speculated-about  prehistoric  race  of  mound- 
builders.  Other  mines,  in  each  of  the  localities  named,  were 
operated.  In  some,  as  in  the  Ray  mine,  shafts  were  sunk  deep 
into  the  feld-spar,  and  in  others  tunnels  were  run  in,  showing 
that  the  miners  were  men  of  some  advancement  in  the  arts.  It 
is  proved,  by  an  examination  of  the  dump-piles,  that  mica  was 
the  object  of  the  search,  and  that  only  large  and  clear  crystals 
were  taken  away.  They  worked  only  in  fieldspar,  probably 
having  no^tools  for  removing  anything  but  soft  rock.  Their 
work  always  stops  when  a  granite  ledge  interferes  with  further 
progress.  Little  more  is  known  of  the  use  to  which  these  peo- 
ple put  mica,  than  of  the  people  themselves.  Many  of  the 
mounds  in  the  North  contain  large  sheets,  over  skeletons,  from 
which  it  is  inferred  that  it  was  used  to  cover  the  bodies  of  illus- 


.    The  Mountains'   Wealth  of  Mica.  203 

trious  personages  after  interment,  and  that  use  may  account  for 
the  zeal  with  which  it  was  sought.  It  has  been  inferred  by 
some  archaeologists  that  it  was  used  for  mirrors  and  windows  in 
their  temples,  which  is  not  improbable,  though  there  is  little 
evidence  to  sustain  the  theory. 

Mica  mining  in  Mitchell  county  has  been  attended  with  better 
results  than  in  any  other  locality.  The  Sinkhole  mine  near 
Bakersville  was  nearly  half  a  mile  long,  the  crystals  imbedded 
in  kioline  (decomposed  feldspar)  and  the  rubbish  easily  removed. 
Tons  of  mica  were  taken  out  of  this  mine.  The  Clarissa 
Buchanan  mine  has  been  worked  to  the  depth  of  more  than 
400  feet.  In  Yancey  county  the  Ray  mine,  near  Burnsville,  has 
yielded  more  mica  than  any  other  in  that  locality.  The  fissure 
takes  a  zigzag  course  up  the  face  of  the  mountain.  The  dike 
shows  no  signs  of  exhaustion,  though  for  more  than  a  decade 
of  years  its  annual  yield  has  been  very  large.  There  are  depos- 
its of  mica  in  Buncombe  county,  but  all  attempts  to  open  profit- 
able mines  have  thus  far  been  failures.  There  are  several  pros- 
pects in  the  south  part  of  Haywood  county.  A  promising 
mine  was  opened  on  Lickstone  mountain,  from,  which  a  large 
quantity  of  merchantable  mica  of  fine  quality  has  been  taken. 
It  is  a  granite  dike  about  100  feet  wide  and  100  yards  long.  It 
yielded  some  crystals  which  cut  plates  nine  by  twelve  inches. 
It  is  owned  jointly  by  W.  F.  Gleason  and  the  Love  estate. 
No  work  has  been  done  on  this  mine  for  some  time  past,  though 
practical  miners  still  consider  it  a  good  property. 

Dike  fissures  in  Jackson  have  encouraged  explorations  in 
that  county.  Several  mines  have  been  opened,  and  some  good 
merchantable  mica  taken  out.  Operations,  however,  were  soon 
abandoned.  This  fact  is  not  conclusive  evidence  that  even 
some  of  the  openings  might  not  make  profitable  mines  under 
the  management  of  a  skillful  and  experienced  operator.  ' '  There 
is  nothing  certain  beneath  this  sod.  " 


2O4  Natural  Resources. 

The  zone  passes  from  Jackson  into  Macon  county,  which  is 
next  to  Mitchell  in  its  wealth  of  mica.  The  Brooks  mine,  at 
the  head  of  Cowee  creek,  was  the  first  opened.  It  was  ener- 
getically worked,  and  for  a  few  years  yielded  satisfactory 
returns.  Work  has  been  done  on  more  than  a  dozen  openings 
in  the  county,  and  a  merchantable  product  obtained  from  most 
of  them.  As  is  always  to  be  expected,  a  very  large  percentage 
of  these  openings  proved  failures ;  others  were  made  failures  by 
incapable  management.  Only  one  mine  has  stood  a  prolonged 
test  of  energetic  work — the  Bowers  mill,  on  Burningtown  creek. 
The  proprietor  and  superintendent,  Charles  Bowers,  is  of  the 
third  generation,  in  direct  line,  of  mica  miners,  and  conse- 
quently has  the  advantage  not  only  of  a  long  personal  experi- 
ence, but  also  the  communicated  experience  of  his  father  and 
grandfather  in  the  mines  of  New  Hampshire.  Mr.  Bowers  has 
been  working  on  the  same  dike  for  about  eight  years.  It  is 
200  yards  long  and  12  feet  wide,  with  a  central  granite  vein 
about  two  feet  thick.  It  cuts  an  east  and  west  spur  of  the 
ridge  transversely,  and  dips  at  an  angle  of  ten  degrees  from  a 
vertical  line.  It  has  been  worked  to  the  depth  of  250  feet,  and 
a  shaft  sunk  50  feet  deeper.  The  quantity  of  mica  and  charac- 
ter of  crystallization  is  unchanged  at  that  depth.  There  are 
several  good  prospects  in  Macon,  which  remain  untouched,  be- 
cause the  owners,  who  know  nothing  about  mining,  are  unwil- 
ling to  offer  inducements,  the  prospect  being  held  at  a  price  as 
high  as  a  workable  mine  would  command.  An  incident  to  the 
point  is  told  of  a  Jackson  county  man  who  had  found  a  few 
crystals  of  glass,  and  imagined  himself  a  rich  man.  A  miner 
one  day  examined  his  prospects,  and  found  every  indication 
against  the  probability  of  it  being  a  workable  deposit.  He 
made  up  his  mind,  however,  to  have  some  fun  for  his  pains 
and,  very  seriously,  without  giving  an  opinion  of  the  prospect, 
asked  the  proprietor  of  the  land,  who  was  happy  in  the  imag- 


The  Corundum  Mines.  205 

ined  possession  of  a  competency,  what  he  would  sell  the  mine 
for.  The  miner's  manner  and  question  raised  the  owner's  con- 
fidence still  higher.  "I  jist  reckon,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  want 
ter  git  shet  of  thet  thar  place.  There's  a  fortune  thar  fur  me 
an'  my  chil'ern  arter  me,  an'  you  furners  haint  goin'  to  git  hit." 
Corundum  is  a  crystaline  mineral  of  varying  color,  and  next, 
in  hardness  to  the  diamond.  It  is,  consequently,  a  valuable 
abrasive,  and  its  use,  in  the  mechanical  arts,  for  that  purpose  is 
increasing,  It  occurs,  usually,  associated  with  chrysolite.  There 
is  a  zone  of  chrysolite  dikes  extending  from  Mitchell  county  to 
Union  county,  Georgia,  in  which,  at  various  places,  corundum 
has  been  struck,  but  not  generally  in  sufficient  quantity  to  pay 
for  mining.  Specimens  have  been  found  in  Mitchell,  Yancey, 
Buncombe,  Madison,  and  Haywood  counties.  In  Jackson 
there  are  several  good  prospects,  but  no  mines  have  been  opened. 
The  localities  are  Scott's  creek,  Webster,  and  Hogback  moun- 
tain. Macon  is  the  only  county  in  which  this  mineral  has  been 
practically  and  profitably  mined.  Specimens  have  been  found 
at  various  places,  but  the  largest  exposure,  and  the  only  mine 
of  importance,  is  at  what  is  known  as  Corundum  hill,  near  the 
Cullasaja  river,  about  10  miles  from  Franklin.  Here  was  the 
first  discovery  of  the  mineral  west  of  the  French  Broad.  The 
mine,  which  is  owned  by  Dr.  Lucas,  is  not  being  worked  at 
present;  it  is  said,  on  account  of  inconvenience  of  transporta- 
tion. The  outcrop  covers  25  acres.  The  chrysolite  zone  makes 
a  bend  in  crossing  the  Tennessee  valley,  and  seems  to  disappear 
until  the  Nantihala  mountains  have  been  reached,  beyond  which, 
on  Buck  creek,  in  Clay  county,  it  reappears,  and  forms  the 
largest  mass  of  chrysolite  rack  in  the  United  States,  the  area 
covered  being  over  1,400  acres,  over  all  of  which  corundum  has 
been  found,  some  masses  weighing  as  much  as  600  pounds. 
There  are  other  outcrops  in  Clay,  which  are  no  doubt  very  rich 
in  corundum.  Specimens  have  been  obtained  in  the  Hiawassee 


2o6  Natural  Resources. 

valley.  Some  garnets  of  very  rich  color  have  been  found, 
associated  with  corundum  ;  a  ruby  is  said  to  have  been  obtained 
in  Madison  county,  and  Mr.  Smith  entertains  the  hope  that 
sapphire  may  yet  be  discovered.  Specimens  of  corundum,  asso- 
ciated with  amethyst  and  garnet,  have  been  found  in  McDowell, 
Burke,  and  Rutherford  counties. 

Chrome  ores  are  found  in  several  of  the  counties  west  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  and  in  the  piedmont  belt.  It  probably  exists  in 
all  of  them. 

There  are  large  deposits  of  iron  ores  in  several  localities, 
which  will,  when  developed,  be  of  great  economic  value.  The 
prevailing  varieties  are  magnetite  and  hematite.  The  former  is 
the  technical  name  for  magnetic  ore,  gray  ore,  and  black  band ; 
the  latter  for  specular  ore,  red  ore,  etc. 

There  is  a  vein  of  ore,  of  good  quality,  stretching  from 
King's  mountain,  on  the  South  Carolina  line,  to  Anderson's 
mountain,  in  Catawba  county.  It  consists  of  two  parallel  veins, 
of  variable  width ;  is  of  a  shaly  character  and  mostly  magnetic. 
It  was  reduced  in  forges  and  bloomeries  as  early  as  the  revolu- 
tion, and  during  the  late  war,  forges  were  erected  and  tons  of 
iron  manufactured.  Southwest  of  Newton,  iron  of  a  superior 
quality  is  found,  being  remarkable  for  its  malleability  and 
toughness.  During  the  wrar  it  was  wrought  in  bloomeries  and 
manufactured  into  spikes,  cannon,  and  shafts  for  the  iron-clads. 

There  are  many  valuable  beds  of  limonite  or  brown  ore,  ex- 
tending in  a  zone  from  the  northeastern  foot-hills  of  the  South 
mountains,  into  the  Brushy  mountains.  A  bed  near  the  town 
of  Hickory  is  reported  to  be  five  or  six  feet  thick;  ten  miles 
west  are  pits  from  which  ore  was  obtained  during  the  war,  and 
six  miles  away  ores  were  smelted  thirty  years  ago.  These  pits 
are  now  all  filled  up,  but  it  is  hoped  that  the  growth  of  manu- 
facturing will  stimulate  industry  in  the  iron  business.  There 
are  large  quantities  of  ore  in  Caldwell  county,  and  this  zon? 


Remarkable  Iron  Deposits.  207 

extends  into  Alexander.  There  are  several  beds  along  the 
Yadkin  river. 

Beds  of  limonite  exist  in  the  Linville  range,  in  workable 
quantities,  but  it  makes  an  inferior  metal  unless  mixed  with 
hematite  or  magnetite,  which  is  found  not  far  away.  There  is 
an  exposure  of  hematite  one  mile  west  of  Swanannoa  gap,  in 
Buncombe,  which  gives  to  Ore  mountain  its  name. 

The  Cranberry  ore  bank  in  Mitchell,  is  pronounced  by  Pro- 
fessor Kerr  "one  of  the  most  remarkable  iron  deposits  in 
America."  Its  location  is  on  the  western  slope  of  Iron  moun- 
tain, in  the  northwest  part  of  the  county,  about  three  miles 
from  the  Tennesee  line.  It  takes  the  name  Cranberry  from  the 
creek  which  flows  near  the  outcrop  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  surrounding  and  associated  rocks  are  gneisses  and 
gneissoids,  hornblende,  slate,  and  syenite.  The  ore  is  a  pure, 
massive,  and  coarse  granular  magnetite.  The  steep  slope  of 
the  mountain  and  ridges,  which  the  bed  occupies,  are  covered 
with  blocks  of  ore,  some  weighing  hundreds  of  pounds,  and  at 
places  bare,  vertical  walls  of  massive  ore,  10  to  15  feet  thick, 
are  exposed,  and  over  several  acres  the  solid  ore  is  found  every- 
where near  the  surface.  The  length  of  the  outcrop  is  1500 
feet,  and  the  width,  200  to  800  feet.  (State  Geological  Report). 

This  ore  has  been  quarried  and  used  in  country  forges  for 
half  a  century,  which,  alone,  evidences  remarkable  purity. 
Several  analyses  have  been  made  by  Dr.  Genth,  which  show 
upwards  of  90  per  cent,  of  magnetic  oxide  of  iron,  and  about 
65  per  cent,  of  metallic  iron.  There  is  not  even  a  piece  of 
sulphur,  which  is  the  dread  of  iron  workers.  The  completion 
of  branch  railroad  has  brought  this  ore  into  the  market. 
Professor  Kerr  affirms  that  it  excels  in  quality  the  deposits  in 
Missouri  and  Michigan. 

Outcrops  of  magnetic  ore  extend  along  the  Iron  mountains 
as  far  as  Big  Rock  creek,  at  the  foot  of  the  Roan.  These  de- 


208  Natural  Resources. 

posits  are  now  attracting  more  attention  than  ever  before,  and 
will,  at  an  early  date,  become  the  basis  of  a  great  industry. 

There  are  ore  deposits  along  the  North  fork  of  New  river, 
which  resemble  those  of  the  Cranberry  bank.  There  are  other 
localities  in  Ashe,  and  also  in  Watauga,  which  show  outcrops 
of  promise. 

Magnetite  is  found  on  the  head  of  Ivy,  in  Madison  county. 
There  are  several  surface  exposures  of  a  good  quality  of  ore. 
The  extent  of  present  explorations  does  not  justify  any  predic- 
tions with  regard  to  this  deposit.  There  is  also  a  bed  of  ore 
near  the  public  road  which  leads  from  Asheville  to  Burnsville. 
It  is  hard,  black,  and  of  resinous  luster.  On  Bear  creek,  near 
Marshall,  and  on  Big  Laurel  are  exposures  of  magnetite.  There 
is  another  exposure  about  three  miles  from  Alexander's  station. 
About  five  miles  west  of  Asheville  is  a  bed  of  limonite  several 
feet  thick. 

A  bold  outcrop  of  magnetic  ore  is  found  in  the  northeastern 
part  of  Haywood  county.  Surface  indications  are  flattering. 
The  deposits  of  Jackson  and  Macon  counties  are  encouraging 
explorations,  but  have  never  been  developed. 

Last,  but  greatest   in  importance,  are  the  ores  of  Cherokee. 

The  region  of  the  Valley  river  seems  to  be  the  culmination 
of  the  mineral  wealth  of  the  Alleghanies.  Gold,  silver,  mar- 
ble, limestone,  and  sandstone  are  associated  with  massive  beds 
of  brown  ore,  which  yields  an  iron  already  celebrated  for  its 
malleability  and  strength.  The  breadth  of  the  iron  and  marble 
range  is  from  two  to  more  than  three  miles,  and  occupies  the 
bottom  of  a  trough  which  has  been  scooped  out  by  the  streams. 
The  direct  valley  range  is  about  24  miles  in  length,  and  there 
is  a  branch  more  than  six  miles  long,  which  follows  Peach  Tree 
and  Brasstown  creeks,  making  the  whole  iron  range  upwards  of 
30  miles.  The  ores  were  used  in  forges  by  the  Indians,  and 


Copper,  Lead,   Tin,  and  Silver.  209 

have  always  since  been  used  by  the  country  blacksmiths  in  pref- 
erence to  the  manufactured  iron. 

Little  attention  has  been  given  to  the  copper  deposits  of 
Jackson  and  Hay  wood  counties  since  the  war  though  there  can 
be  little  doubt  of  the  existence  of  ores  in  workable  quantities. 
The  copper  belt  in  Jackson  occupies  the  middle  portion  of  the 
county,  from  the  head-waters  of  Tuckasege  river  northward  to 
Scott's  creek  and  Savannah  creek.  Good  specimens  have  been 
found  in  a  great  many  places,  but  mines  have  been  opened  only 
on  Waryhut,  Cullowhee,  and  Savannah  creeks.  At  each  of 
these  several  mines  the  vein  is  about  eight  feet  thick.  Its  asso- 
ciated rocks  are  syenitic.  There  is  a  belt  running  across  the 
north  part  of  Haywood  county  with  outcrops  in  the  spurs  of 
the  Balsam  range. 

There  is  in  Ashe  and  Alleghany  a  copper  producing  district 
of  importance.  Elk  knob  and  Ore  knob,  Peach  bottom,  Gap 
creek  and  other  localities  contain  stores  of  copper.  The  works 
at  Ore  knob  are  the  largest  in  the  Alleghanies,  and  the  deposit 
of  ore  in  quantity  and  quality  is  said  to  rival  the  Lake  Supe- 
rior region. 

Lead,  tin,  and  silver  are  found  in  various  localities,  but  as 
no  mines  have  ever  been  opened,  nor  satisfactory  results  ob- 
tained from  the  meager  explorations  which  have  been  made  up 
to  this  time,  we  leave  the  subject  without  discussion. 

The  rarest  of  the  rare  gems  is  the  diamond,  a  very  few  spec- 
imens of  which  have  been  found.  The  first  stone  identified  was 
discovered  at  Brindletown,  in  Burke  county,  in  1843.  It  was. 
an  octohedron,  valued  at  one  hundred  dollars.  A  second  was 
soon  after  found  in  the  same  neighborhood.  The  third  was  dis- 
covered in  Twitty's  mine,  in  Rutherford  county,  in  1846,  and 
was  first  identified  by  General  Clingman,  of  Asheville.  Cot- 
tage Home,  in  Lincoln  county,  and  Muddy  creek,  in  McDow- 
ell; have  each  furnished  specimens. 


2 1 0  Natural  Resource -s. 

Garnet  is  found  in  the  Southern  Alleghanies,  both  as  massive 
crystaline  rock  and  individual  crystals,  rich  in  color  and  brill- 
iant. Some  valuable  gems  of  a  brownish  red  color  have  been 
taken  from  the  mica  and  corundum  mines  of  Mitchell,  Yancey, 
and  Macon  counties.  On  account  of  richness  and  beautiful  play 
of  colors,  the  crystals  of  Burke,  Caldwell,  and  Catawba  coun- 
ties are  excellent  material  from  which  to  cut  gems.  The  best 
k)cality  is  about  eight  miles  southeast  of  Morganton,  where 
there  are  blocks  almost  transparent,  weighing  10  pounds. 
About  four  miles  from  Marshall,  in  Madison  county,  is  a  local- 
ity rich  in  garnets.  The  writer  has  seen  beautiful  specimens 
picked  up  from  the  ballasting  of  the  railroad.  A  few  specimens 
of  amethyst  have  been  found  associated  with  garnet. 

It  will  be  impossible  to  discuss  all  the  minerals  of  Western 
North  Carolina,  or  even  all  those  of  common  commercial  value. 
The  interest  of  10  years  ago  had  in  some  measure  died  out  on 
account  of  the  apparent  failure  of  all  the  railroad  projects.  It 
matters  little  of  how  great  intrinsic  value  the  resources  of  any 
section  may  be;  their  actual  value  will  be  insignificant  unless  by 
rapid  and  cheap  transit  they  can  be  made  a  part  of  the  great 
world.  The  flesh  and  rose  colored  marbles  of  Cherokee  and 
the  Nantihala  arc  worth  no  more  now  than  common  granite, 
but  carried  to  the  great  markets  where  art  is  cultivated  and 
beauty  appreciated,  they  will  command  tempting  prices.  The 
prospect  of  an  early  completion  of  through  lines  of  railroad 
and  the  actual  completion  of  the  greater  portion  of  the  Western 
North  Carolina  system,  has  given  new  stimulus  to  the  investiga- 
tion of  hidden  resources,  and  is  bringing  in  the  skill  and  capital 
necessary  to  their  economical  development. 


HISTORICAL  RfeSUME. 


There  is  much  in  the  rare  we  spring  from  affecting  both  the  individual  and  the  commu- 
nity. The  physical  and  mental  traits  we  derive  from  our  ancestors,  are  not  more  marked 
and  important  in  directing  our  destinies  than  are  the  prejudices,  aspirations  and  traditions 
we  drink  in  from  childhood.  No  profound  observers  of  human  nature  will  ever  estimate 
the  conduct  or  capacities  of  a  people  without  first  looking  at  their  genealogical  table  and 
noting  the  blood  which  flows  in  their  veins.  —  [SENATOR  VANCE. 


observation  is  illustrated  by  the  character  of  the  settle- 
merits  of  both  the  Carolinas.  Most  of  the  first  immi- 
grants to  the  coast  country  of  South  Carolina  were  English  capi- 
talists, who  purchased  large  plantations.  The  coast  country  of 
the  north  State  drew  its  population  from  Virginia  and  from  Bar- 
badoes.  The  whole  east  line  of  settlement  was  English.  Large 
plantations  and  numerous  slaves  were  acquired,  and  the  inhab- 
itants after  the  second  generation  lived  in  comparative  ease  and 
luxury.  Those  of  the  south  were  particularly  devoted  to  the 
cultivation  of  manners  and  mind,  a  degree  of  excellence  being 
eventually  attained,  which  has  never  been  equalled  elsewhere 
on  the  continent. 

The  emigrants  to  the  plains  beyond  the  line  of  terraces  and 
hills  were  of  entirely  different  stock^  character,  and  situation  in 

213 


214  Historical  Resume. 

life.  They  belonged  to  that  sturdy  race,  now  so  widely  dis- 
tributed over  the  whole  country,  which  is  known  in  history  as 
Scotch-Irish.  Their  ancestors  were  of  pure  Scotch  blood,  but 
lived  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  whence  they  emigrated  to 
America,  landing  at  New  York,  Baltimore,  and  other  northern 
ports.  The  first  arrivals  found  home  near  the  eastern  base  of 
the  Alleghanies  in  Pennsylvania,  but  being  annually  joined  by 
new  immigrants  of  their  own  blood  and  fatherland,  the  best  lands 
were  soon  filled  to  overflowing.  The  tide  of  immigration  still 
continued,  but  an  outlet  was  found  toward  the  south,  through 
which  it  swept  along  the  entire  base  of  the  mountains  into  the 
inviting  valleys  of  Carolina,  and  eventually  crossed  them  into 
Georgia.  There  is  to  the  present  day  marked  homogeneity  of 
character  within  this  belt,  from  Pennsylvania  to  Virginia  south- 
ward. Scattered  families  of  other  nationalities  followed  into 
the  wilderness,  but  so  largely  did  the  Scotch-Irish  prevail  over 
all  other  races  that  the  amalgamation  of  blood  which  followed 
brought  about  no  perceptible  change. 

.  A  long  period  elapsed  from  the  time  emigration  from  the 
north  of  Ireland  began  until  the  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia 
plains  had  been  filled;  and  the  Yadkin,  in  North  Carolina,  was 
reached  near  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  So  strong  was  the 
opposition,  natural  and  human,  encountered  at  every  point,  that 
only  dauntless  courage  and  determined  spirit  was  able  to  over- 
come it.  A  wilderness  had  to  be  reduced  in  the  face  of  a  cruel 
and  cunning  foe.  Being  poor,  they  purchased  small  farms,  and 
the  number  of  their  slaves  was  never  large.  Unlike  the  planta- 
tion lords  of  the  South  State  coast,  they  devoted  themselves  to 
rigorous  labor,  the  number  being  few  who  had  time  to  devote 
to  the  cultivation  of  manners,  or  to  pleasure,  and  fewer  still 
had  the  financial  ability  to  educate  their  children. 

Between  1750,  the  date  of  the  first  settlement  on  the  upper 
Yadkin,  and   the    Revolution,  a   period   of  25    years,   the    best 


Daniel  Boonc.  215 

lands  were  occupied  to  the  base  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  Even  that 
barrier  was  scaled,  and  the  germs  of  civilized  industry  planted 
along  the  Holston  before  1770. 

A  character  of  the  times,  typical  of  a  class  of  early  settlers, 
was  the  famous  Daniel  Boone,  whose  life  is  the  inspiration  and 
light  of  western  annals.  Being  but  a  lad,  when  his  father  re- 
moved from  Pennsylvania,  and  settled  on  the  Yadkin  in  I754» 
the  wildness  and  beauty  of  his  new  home  made  him  a  recluse 
of  nature.  In  early  youth  he  became  a  hunter,  a  trapper,  and 
fighter  of  Indians.  When  the  country  around  him  filled  up, 
he  left  his  home  and  plunged  again  into  the  depths  of  the 
wilderness  beyond  the  mountains.  After  a  period,  crowded 
with  blood-chilling  adventures  in  Kentucky,  he  returned  to  his 
old  home,  but  the  growth  of  settlement  had  deprived  it  of  its 
romance.  He  again  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge  and  pitched  his 
camp  in  the  Watauga  plateau.  There  is  a  curious  old  church 
record  in  existence,  which  shows  that  he  cursed  "  with  profane 
oaths  "  a  fellow  Baptist  for  building  a  cabin  within  ten  miles  of 
his.  His  ideal  of  complete  happiness  was  to  be  alone  in  a 
boundless  wilderness.  He  once  said:  ''I  am  richer  than  the 
man  mentioned  in  Scripture  who  owned  the  cattle  on  a  thousand 
hills.  I  own  the  wild  beasts  in  more  than  a  thousand  valleys." 
He  expired  at  a  deer  stand,  with  rifle  in  hand,  in  the  year  1818. 
It  was  of  him  that  Byron  wrote : 

"Crime  came  not  near  him,  she  is  not  the  child 
Of  solitude.  Health  shrank  not  from  him,  for 
Her  home  is  in  the  rarely  trodden  wild." 

The  class  of  settlers  of  which  Boone  is  mentioned  as  a  type, 
is  not  large  ;  but  it  was  the  class,  to  paraphrase  a  line  of  Scott, 
which  dared  to  face  the  Indian  in  his  den.  They  were  hunters 
of  wild  animals  and  wild  men.  But  there  was  a  larger  class, 
the  equal  in  sturdiness  of  the  former,  and  though  less  romantic 
in  conduct,  entitled  to  recognition  by  posterity.  They  were 


216  Historical  Resume. 

the  men  who  cleared  farms  and  built  up  houses  and  towns.  In 
the  valleys  of  the  Yadkin  and  Catawba,  is  found  a  large  per- 
centage of  population  of  German  descent,  which  is  the  source 
of  the  German  blood  found  in  the  western  counties.  Not  far 
behind  the  Scotch-Irish  pioneers,  by  the  same  route,  came  the 
astute  hard-working  ancestors  of  this  class  of  citizens.  Many 
were  scattered  through  Virginia,  and  some  drifted  even  beyond 
the  line  of  the  old  North  State.  The  least  mixture  of  blood  is 
found  in  the  valley  of  the  Catawba.  It  is  a  mongrel  German, 
known  in  the  North  as  "  Pennsylvania  Dutch."  The  traveller 
from  central  Pennsylvania  will  frequently  forget,  while  in  the 
Catawba  valley,  that  he  is  away  from  home.  Governor  Vance, 
whose  long  political  career  has  familiarized  him  with  all  sections 
of  the  state,  declares  that  in  agriculture,  as  a  general  rule,  they 
have  excelled  all  other  classes,  especially  in  thrift  economy  and 
the  art  of  preserving  their  lands  from  sterility.  "To  this  day 
there  is  less  of  that  desolation,  known  in  the  South  as  '  old 
field,'  to  be  seen  among  the  lands  of  their  descendants,  than 
amongst  any  others  of  our  people.  .  .  A  sturdier  race  of 
upright  citizens  is  not  to  be  found  in  this  or  any  other  state. 
Their  steady  progress  in  wealth  and  education,  is  one  of  their 
characteristics,  and  their  enduring  patience  and  unflinching 
patriotism,  tested  by  many  severe  trials,  proclaim  them  worthy 
of  the  great  sires  from  whom  they  sprang."  Like  their  kin  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  scattered  over  other  states,  west  and  south, 
''they  are  Lutheran  in  religion  and  Democratic  in  politics,  and 
they  are  as  steadfast  as  the  hills  in  each." 

The  Scotch  and  Germans  of  the  upper  plains  and  valleys, 
from  which  the  trans-montane  counties  drew  the  bulk  of  their 
population,  exist  in  the  rural  districts  unmixed.  There  has 
been,  until  very  recently,  little  immigration  since  the  opening 
up  of  the  great  West  soon  after  the  Revolution,  the  growth  of 
population  being  almost  wholly  a  natural  increase.  It  is  further 


Patriots  and  Tories.  217 

a  fact,  to  the  disadvantage  of  this  community,  as  a  similar  con- 
dition of  things  is  to  all  other  old  communities,  that  many  of 
the  most  enterprising  children  of  each  generation  leave  their 
homes  for  fields  of  industry  in  new  sections.  Conservatism  in 
the  old  community  is  an  inevitable  result.  The  western  section 
of  North  Carolina  is  a  conspicuous  example.  The  same  states- 
man, whom  we  have  already  quoted,  a  native  there,  has  said : 

"  A  very  marked  conservatism  pervades  all  classes  of  North  Carolinians.  Attachment 
to  old  forms  and  institutions  seems  to  be  deeply  implanted  in  them,  as  a  part  of  their 
religion.  They  almost  equal  the  conservatism  of  Sydney  Smith's  man,  who  refused  to 

look  at  the  new  moon,  so  great  was  his  regard  for  the  old North 

Carolina  was,  I  believe,  the  last  state  in  the  Union  to  abolish  property  representation  and 
suffrage  in  her  legislature.  The  name  of  the  lower  branch,  house  of  commons,  was  only- 
changed  in  1868.  John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe  died  a  violent  death  and  departed  our 
courts  at  the  hands  of  the  carpet-bag  invasion  the  same  year.  This  horde,  also,  with 
the  most  extraordinary  perversion  of  its  possible  uses,  unanimously  deposed  the  whipping- 
post as  a  relic  of  barbarism,  to  which  our  people  had  clung  as  the  great  conservator  of 
their  goods  and  chattels." 

The  present  generation  of  Highlanders  may  be  proud  of  the 
revolutionary  record  of  their  ancestors,  though  there  were 
among  them  numerous  tories,  the  proportion  being  one  King 
George  man  to  four  revolutionists.  Representatives  from  the 
west  are  found  among  the  signers  of  the  Mecklenburg  declara- 
tion of  independence  in  1775,  and  by  subsequent  conduct  they 
proved  their  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  Their  chief 
peril  was  to  be  apprehended  from  tory  brigands  and  the  Chero- 
kees,  incited  to  blood  and  cruelty  by  British  agents.  The  dan- 
ger was  greatest  in  the  summer  of  1780,  after  Lord  Cornwallis 
had  made  his  victorious  raid  through  the  South.  The  liberty 
men  were  disheartened,  and  not  a  few  went  over  to  the  tory 
militia,  of  which  Colonel  Patrick  Moore  appeared  as  the  com- 
mander in  North  Carolina.  He  published  both  inducements 
and  threats,  as  a  means  of  increasing  his  forces,  and  was  meet- 
ing with  a  degree  of  success  dangerous  to  the  patriot  cause, 
when  three  companies  of  old  Indian-fighters,  under  command 


218  Historical  Resume, 

of  Colonels  Shelby,  McDowell,  and  Sevier,  attacked  him,  with 
successful  results.  This  was  a  small  event  in  itself,  but  it  en- 
couraged the  liberty  party,  and  showed  the  British  commander 
that  there  was  a  force  in  the  scattered  settlements  of  the  moun- 
tain foot-hills  which  he  had  reason  to  fear. 

Colonel  Ferguson,  with  a  nucleus  of  100  regulars,  had  col- 
lected a  band  of  1,200  native  Tories,  from  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains, in  South  Carolina.  His  progress  northward  was 
"  marked  with  blood,  and  lighted  up  with  conflagration."  For 
this  reason  he  was  selected  to  operate  against  the  western  set- 
tlements of  North  Carolina. 

The  mountain  men  made  one  dashing  and  successful  on- 
slaught on  his  advancing  divisions,  and  then  retired  to  the 
mountain  fastnesses,  for  consultation  and  organization.  Fergu- 
son pursued  as  far  as  Rutherfordton  (then  Gilbert  town),  whence 
he  dispatched  a  messenger  to  the  patriots  with  the  threat  that 
if  they  did  not  lay  down  their  arms  he  would  burn  their  houses, 
lay  waste  their  country,  and  hang  their  leaders. 

This  cruel  threat  aroused  the  settlers  adjacent  to  the  mountains,, 
on  both  sides,  and  north,  into  Virginia.  More  men  were  will- 
'ing  to  go  to  the  field  than  it  was  prudent  to  have  leave  the  set- 
tlements. Their  fame  as  "center  shots,"  with  the  rifle,  was 
well  known  to  the  British  regulars,  who  feared  to  meet  them  ; 
but  the  chivalric  Ferguson  was  stimulated  by  this  fact  to  greater 
watchfulness  and  exertion. 

Ramsey  draws  this  picture  of  the  Revolutionary  forces . 

"  The  sparse  settlements  of  the  frontier  had  never  before  seen  assembled  a  concourse 
of  people  so  immense,  and  so  evidently  agitated  by  great  excitement.  The  large  mass  of 
the  assembly  were  volunteer  riflemen,  clad  in  the  homespun  of  their  wives  and  sisters, 
and  wearing  the  hunting  shirt  of  the  back-woods  soldiery,  and  not  a  few  of  them  the 
moccasins  of  their  own  manufacture.  A  few  of  the  officers  were  better  dressed,  but  all 
in  citizen's  clothing.  The  mien  of  Campbell  was  stern,  authoritative,  and  dignified.  Shel- 
by was  stern,  taciturn,  and  determined;  Seveir,  vivacious,  ardent,  impulsive,  and  ener- 
getic; McDowell,  moving  about  with  the  ease  and  dignity  of  a  colonial  magistrate,  in- 
spiring veneration  for  his  virtues,  and  an  indignant  sympathy  for  the  wrongs  of  himself 


The  Battle  of  Kings  Mountain.  219 

and  co-exiles.  All  were  completely  wrapt  in  the  absorbing  subject  of  the  Revolutionary 
struggle,  then  approaching  its  acme,  and  threatening  the  homes  and  families  of  the  moun- 
taineers themselves.  Never  did  mountain  recess  contain  within  it  a  loftier  or  more  en- 
larged patriotism — never  a  cooler  or  more  determined  courage." 

Carrying  their  shot-pouches,  powder-horns  and  blankets,  they 
started  from  the  Watauga,  over  Yellow  mountain,  to  the  head 
of  the  Catawba.  Ferguson  broke  up  his  camp  at  Gilbert  town 
(Rutherfordton),  on  the  approach  of  the  patriots.  This  was  the 
most  westward  point  he  reached,  in  the -execution  of  his  threat 
to  lay  waste  the  country.  The  tories  of  his  command  quailed 
on  the  approach  of  so  large  a  body  of  riflemen,  and  many  of 
them  deserted  the  royal  standard.  Ferguson  dispatched  for  re- 
inforcement, and  took  his  position  on  King's  mountain,  from 
which  he  declared  "  God  Almighty  could  not  drive  him." 

After  being  in  the  saddle  thirty  hours,  in  a  dashing  rain  the 
patriots,  on  the  afternoon  of  October  7,  1780,  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  This,  one  of  the  most  historic  spots  in 
the  South,  is  located  on  the  North  Carolina  border  in  Cleveland 
county.  The  area  of  its  summit  is  about  500  yards  by  seventy. 

The  mountaineers  approached  the  summit  in  divisions  so  as 
to  make  the  attack  from  opposite  sides  simultaneously.  The 
center  reached  the  enemy  first,  and  a  furious  and  bloody  fight 
was  commenced.  The  royalists  drove  the  attacking  division 
down  the  mountain  side,  but  were  compelled  to  retreat  by  an 
onslaught  from  the  end  and  opposite  side.  The  battle  became 
general  all  around,  Ferguson's  forces  being  huddled  in  the 
center.  The  mountain  men  aimed  coolly,  and  shot  fatally,  giv- 
ing away  before  a  fierce  charge  at  one  point,  and  charging  with 
equal  fierceness  from  another.  The  British  commander,  at 
length,  gave  up  the  idea'  of  further  resistance,  but,  determined 
not  to  surrender,  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  break  through 
the  lines.  He  fell  in  the  charge  with  a  mortal  shot.  A  white 
flag  asked  for  terms  of  capitulation ;  225  royalists  and  30 
patriots  lay  dead  upon  the  field ;  700  prisoners  were  taken  in 


22O  Historical  Resume. 

custody;  1,500  stand  of  arms  captured,  and  a  great  many 
horses  and  other  booty  which  had  been  taken  from  the  settlers, 
restored  to  the  rightful  owners.  More  than  all,  the  frontier  was 
freed  from  the  ravages  of  a  merciless  foe. 

The  captured  arms  and  booty  was  shouldered  upon  the  pris- 
oners and  taken  to  a  point  in  Rutherford  county,  where  a  court 
martial  was  held.  Thirty  of  the  tories  were  sentenced  to  death 
for  desertion  and  other  crimes  they  had  committed,  but  only 
nine  were  executed.  One  of  these  was  Colonel  Mills,  a  distin- 
guished leader.  The  remaining  prisoners  and  captured  arms 
were  turned  over  to  General  Gates,  commander  of  the  Conti- 
nental army  in  the  South. 

John  Seveir,  one  of  the  leading  spirits  in  the  King's  mountain 
affair,  and  commander  of  the  transmontane  militia,  was  a  bril- 
liant, daring,  dashing  character ;  the  idol  and  leader  of  bold 
frontiersmen,  who  nicknamed  him  "Nollichucky  Jack."  The 
whole  of  Tennessee  then  belonged  to  North  Carolina,  but  the 
settlers  on  the  Holston  were  so  far  removed  from  the  seat  of 
government  that,  practically,  they  were  without  government. 
Seveir  and  his  friends  conceived  the  idea  of  organizing  a  new 
state,  which,  being  in  the  nature  of  a  measure  for  self-protec- 
tion, was  unquestioned  west  of  the  mountains  as  a  just  and 
proper  proceeding,  but  by  the  home  government  denounced  as 
an  insurrection.  The  new  state  was  named  Franklin,  in  honor 
of  the  Philadelphia  philosopher  and  patriot.  For  four  years 
there  was  civil  contention,  which,  in  one  instance,  resulted  in 
contact  of  arms  and  bloodshed.  After  this  the  parent  state 
adopted  a  radical  policy  for  the  restraint  of  her  premature 
liberty-seeking  child.  "  Nollichucky  Jack,"  the  governor  of 
the  insurrectionary  state,  was  arrested  for  ' '  high  treason  against 
the  state  of  North  Carolina,"  and  taken  to  Morganton  for  trial." 

The  prisoner's  chivalric  character  and  gallant  military  services, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  indict- 


"Nollichuckyjack. "  221 

ment  on  the  other,  gave  the  trial  momentous  interest.  The 
village  streets  were  crowded  with  old  soldiers  and  settlers  from 
far  and  near,  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  court.  There 
were  others  there  with  different  purposes.  The  chivalry  of  the 
infant  settlement  of  Tennessee;  the  men  who  had  suffered  with 
the  trials  of  frontier  life  and  savage  warfare,  who  had  fought 
under  him  to  establish  their  country's  freedom,  and  who  loved 
him  as  a  brother,  armed  to  the  teeth,  had  followed  the  captive 
across  the  mountains,  determined  to  "rescue  him,  or  leave  their 
bones."  Their  plan  was  to  rescue  him  by  stratagem,  but  if 
that  failed,  to  fire  the  town,  and  in  the  excitement  of  the  con- 
flagration make  their  escape. 

On  the  day  of  trial,  two  of  the  "Franks,"  as  they  were 
called,  leaving  their  companions  concealed  near  the  town,  and 
hiding  reliable  sidearms  under  their  hunting  shirts,  rode  up  be- 
fore the  court-house,  one  of  them  on  "Governor"  Seveir's  fine 
race  mare.  He  dismounted,  and  with  the  rein  carelessly  thrown 
over  her  neck,  stood  with  the  manner  of  an  indifferent  specta- 
tor. The  companion  having  tied  his  horse,  went  into  the 
court-room.  Seveir's  attention,  by  a  slight  gesture,  was  directed 
to  the  man  outside.  During  a  pause  in  the  trial,  the  bold 
"  Frank"  stepped  into  the  bar,  and  with  decided  manner  and 
tone,  addressed  the  judge:  "Are  you  done  with  that  there 
man  ?  '  The  scene  was  so  unusual,  the  manner  and  tone  of  the 
speaker  so  firm  and  dramatic,  that  both  officers  and  audience 
were  thrown  into  confusion.  The  "Governor"  sprang  like  a 
fox  from  his  cage,  one  leap  took  him  to  the  door,  and  two  more 
on  his  racer's  back.  The  quick  clash  of  hoofs  gave  notice  of 
his  escape.  The  silence  of  the  bewildered  court  was  broken 
by  the  exclamation  of  a  waggish  by-stander  :  "  Yes,  I'll  be 
damned  if  you  haint  done  with  him." 

Seveir  was  joined  by  his  neighbors  with  a  wild  shout,  and 
they  bore  him  safely  to  his  home.  No  attempt  was  made  to 


222  Historical  Resume. 

re-arrest  him.  The  State  of  Franklin  died  from  various  causes, 
and  a  few  years  later  the  new  State  of  Tennesse  honored  "  Nolli- 
chucky  Jack  "  with  the  first  governorship,  and  later,  by  an 
election  to  the  United  States  Senate. 

Recall  a  picture  of  the  mountain  soldier  a  century  ago,  dur- 
ing the  heroic  or  military  period:  a  tall,  athletic  form,  hardy 
appearance,  noiseless  step,  and  keen  pair  of  eyes — attired  in 
an  upper  garment  of  blue  home-spun,  fringed  at  the  bottom,  and 
belted  with  wampum  ;  deerskin  leggins  and  buckskin  moccasins, 
and  armed  with  a  large  knife,  tomahawk,  and  long  rifle.  This 
emblem  of  antiquity  is  now  found  only  in  museums. 

Before  the  close  of  the  Revolution  there  was  a  well-beaten 
road  from  the  Catawba  to  the  Watauga,  the  path  of  travel  from 
Carolina  to  the  incipient  states  west  of  the  Alleghanies.  South 
of  this,  except  by  hunters  and  Indian  traders,  the  passes  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  had  not  been  crossed.  The  fame  of  the  luxuriant 
highland  valleys  was  widespread,  however,  when  an  extinguish- 
ment of  the  Indian  title  opened  them  up  to  the  settler. 

It  was  a  miscellaneous  throng  that  filled  the  narrow  roads 
leading  from  the  head  waters  of  the  eastward  streams,  in  search 
of  homes  and  lands  in  the  cool  upper  plateau.  Ahead,  on 
horse-back,  was  a  far-seeing  man  of  middle  age,  a  member  of 
the  legislature,  whose  industry  had  rewarded  him  with  a  small 
fortune,  with  which  he  would  purchase  a  fertile  tract  of  wild 
land,  and  hold  it  for  an  advance  of  price.  Slowly  moving  along 
behind  was  a  boat-shaped,  great  covered  wagon,  drawn  by  four 
oxen.  It  contained  the  family  and  household  goods  of  a  man 
whose  earthly  possessions  amounted  to  but  a  few  dollars  be- 
sides. Then  followed  the  foot  emigrants  of  a  still  poorer  class, 
badly  clad,  and  scantily  fed.  The  man  and  woman  and  larger 
children  carried  upon  their  backs,  an  axe,  a  few  agricultural 
tools,  a  couple  of  cooking  pots,  and  a  light  bundle  of  bed  cloth- 
ing. The  man  with  the  wagon  would  purchase  a  few  hundred 


The  Pioneers.  223 

acres  of  valley  land,  erect  a  cabin,  such  as  may  yet  be  seen  any 
where  in  the  rural  districts,  make  a  clearing,  and  eventually 
become  a  prosperous  citizen.  The  foot  emigrant,  without  ex- 
amining titles  or  running  lines,  built  a  hut  where  it  suited  him, 
deadened  the  trees  on  a  few  acres,  which,  cultivated  with  the 
hoe,  yielded  bread  for  his  family.  A  flint-lock  rifle,  saved  from 
the  soldiering  times,  supplied  meat  and  clothing.  Neither  the 
freehold  settler  nor  the  "squatter"  was  able  to  convert  more 
than  the  hides  of  wild  animals  into  money  with  which  to  make 
annual  purchases  of  such  supplies  as  could  not  be  raised  The 
squatter  had  the  advantage  from  a  cash  point  of  view  over  the 
land  owner,  for  he  had  no  taxes  to  pay,  and  more  time  to  de- 
vote to  the  chase.  Alive  to  this  advantage  he  had  no  incen- 
tive to  aspire  to  the  ownership  of  property ;  an  indifference  to 
worldly  condition  characterized  his  simple  life,  an  indifference 
which  his  children  and  his  children's  children  have  inherited. 
It  was  different  with  the  freeholder  ;  he  knew  of  the  luxury  of 
low  country  civilization ;  he  had  himself  tasted  the  sweets  of  a 
substantial  prosperity,  and  looked  forward  to  their  full  enjoy- 
ment in  his  new  home  in  the  mountains.  When  times  grew 
better  he  was  able  to  purchase  a  few  slaves,  give  his  children  an 
elementary  education,  and  live  in  a  comfortable  house.  From 
this  class  of  the  settler  ancestry  is  descended  the  substantial 
element  of  the  present  generation  of  native  mountaineers. 
They  arc  famous  business  and  professional  men,  who  would  be 
a  credit  to  any  community.  They  own  nearly  all  the  land,  and 
inhabit  the  most  inviting  farms.  Many  of  the  wealthier  land 
owners  were  not  far  behind  the  first  settlers,  and  their  posterity 
may  be  found  in  almost,  every  count}',  some  of  them  continuing 
to  control  large  boundaries. 

The  nucleus  of  settlement  was  on  the  French  Broad,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Swannanoa.  It  was  there  that  the  first  white 
child  was  born,  in  the  inter-montane  plateau — James  M.  Smith. 


224  Historical  Resume. 

In  the  year  1795,  a  wagon  passed  from  South  Carolina,  through 
Mill's  gap,  down  the  French  Broad,  to  the  prosperous  settle- 
ments in  Tennessee.  Scores  of  emigrants,  intending  to  go  on 
to  the  West,  were  charmed  by  broad  stretches  of  valley  between 
the  mountains,  and  went  no  further.  The  Indians  frequently 
showed  hostile  intentions,  but  the  occasion  for  alarm  was  never 
great  enough  to  deflect  the  tide  of  settlement.  The  best  lands 
on  the  French  Broad  and  Pigeon  were  occupied  by  freeholders, 
and  the  smoke  of  squatters'  cabins  rose  in  almost  every  cove, 
before  the  Cherokee  treaty  of  1819  opened  up  the  valleys  be- 
yond the  Balsams,  which  were  rapidly  occupied  by  settlers 
mainly  from  the  piedmont  and  trans-Blue  Ridge  regions.  East 
Tennessee  made  slight  contributions.  The  buying  up  of  cove 
lands,  by  actual  settlers,  from  speculators,  or  the  state,  began 
after  the  valleys  were  filled,  and  many  small  farms  on  mountain 
sides  have  been  acquired  by  "  undisturbed  possession." 

The  counties  of  Western  North  Carolina,  in  the  year  1777,  were  all  embraced  in  Burke, 
Wilkes,  and  Tryon.  Ashe  was  carved  off  Wilkes,  in  1799,  and  Alleghany  off 
Ashe  in  1859.  Tryon,  which  bore  the  name  of  the  most  obnoxious  of  the  colonial 
governors,  was  divided  into  Lincoln  and  Rutherford,  in  1779,  and  the  hated  name  ob- 
literated. Cleveland  was  cut  from  both  these  counties  in  1841.  Caldwell  was  taken  from 
Burke  in  1842,  and  McDowell  was  erected  out  of  territory  from  Burke  and  Rutherford; 
and  Catawba  from  territory  from  Lincoln,  in  the  same  year.  Kaston  was  carved  off 
Lincoln  in  1846.  Buncombe  was  erected  in  1791,  out  of  territory  previously  embraced, 
partly  in  Rutherford,  but  mainly  in  Burke.  It  is  the  parent  stem  of  all  the  trans-Blue 
Ridge  counties,  excepting  Ashe  and  Alleghany.  The  first  branch  was  Haywood,  in  1808, 
from  which  Macon  was  taken,  in  1828,  and  Jackson  in  1850.  From  territory  of  both  these 
Swain  was  made  in  1871.  Cherokee  was  cut  off  Macon  in  1839.  From  its  territory 
Clay  was  formed  in  1861,  and  Graham  in  1872.  Henderson  was  cut  off  Buncombe  in 
1838;  Polk  from  Henderson  and  Rutherford  in  1855;  and  Trans'ylvania  from  Henderson 
andjackson  in  1861.  Yancey  was  erected  from  Buncombe  in  1833;  Watauga  from 
Yancey,  Wilkes,  Caldwell,  and  Ashe,  in  1849.  Madison  was  erected  of  territory  from 
Buncombe  in  1850;  and  Mitchell  in  1861,  from  territory  from  Burke,  McDowell,  Cald- 
well, Watauga,  and  Yancey. 

Two  elements,  in  the  settlement  and  population  of  the  moun- 
tain country,  have  not  been  considered  in  the  foregoing  pages. 
The  one  is,  happily,  well  nigh  extinct,  the  other  is  the  main 
hope  of  the  future.  In  early  times,  criminals  and  refugees  from 


Early  Enterprises.  225 

justice  made  the  fastnesses  of  the  wilderness  hiding  places. 
Their  stay,  in  most  cases,  was  short,  seclusion  furnishing  their 
profession  a  barren  field  for  operation.  A  few,  however,  re- 
mained, either  adopting  the  wild,  free  life  of  the  chase,  or  prey- 
ng  upon  the  property  of  the  community.  The  latter  occupa- 
tion has  been  entirely  abandoned  by  their  posterity.  There 
was  a  time  when  it  was  unsafe  to  turn  a  good  horse  out  to  range 
on  the  grassy  mountain  tops,  but  that  time  is  passed.  There 
are  communities  in  the  mountains  in  which  all  the  commands 
of  the  Decalogue  are  not  punctiliously  observed,  but  "Thou 
shalt  not  steal,"  is  seldom  violated.  Cattle  and  horses  pasture 
on  every  range,  stables  are  everywhere  without  locks,  houses 
are  left  open,  and  highway  robbery  is  remembered  only  as  a 
tradition  of  the  past. 

By  the  element  in  the  settlement  referred  to  as  the  hope  of 
the  future,  we  mean  those  classes  who  have  come  for  the  pur- 
pose of  engaging  in  business,  and  to  establish  summer  homes, 
attracted  by  salubrity  of  climate  and  beauty  of  scenery.  Rep- 
resentatives of  the  latter  class  have  handsome  estates  at  several 
places  in  the  French  Broad  valley  and  along  the  Blue  Ridge. 

Immigration  for  business  purposes  is  just  starting.  The 
mineral  deposits  and  the  lumber  stores  are  bringing  in  good 
citizens  from  abroad.  With  abundant  resources,  both  of  ma- 
terial and  power,  there  is  a  wide  field  here  for  manufacturers. 
The  native  population  has  not  husbanded  the  capital  needed  to 
start  the  ball  rolling.  Although  settled  for  100  years,  Western 
North  Carolina  is  a  new  country  in  many  respects,  but  the  day 
of  its  rapid  development  is  near  at  hand. 

The  great  obstacle  to  development  in  the  past  has  been  the 
section's  isolated  position,  an  obstacle  now  almost  removed. 
The  building  of  a  turnpike  from  South  Carolina  to  Tennessee 
was  justly  regarded  a  great  public  improvement  when  it  was 
completed  in  1827,  but  during  the  last  half  century  horses  have 


226  Historical  Resume. 

been  too  slow  to  carry  on  the  world's  work.  General  Hayne, 
of  South  Carolina,  was  one  of  the  first  projectors  of  a  railroad 
through  the  mountains.  It  was  to  run  from  Charleston  to 
Cincinnati,  a  line  which  there  is  good  reason  for  believing  will 
be  pushed  to  completion  at  no  distant  day.  The  original  pro- 
ject was  given  chartered  form  in  1835. 

The  Western  North  Carolina  road  was  also  an  early  project, 
and  is  a  part  of  the  system  of  public  improvements  contem- 
plated by  the  state  government.  A  charter  was  granted  in 
1855.  The  state  authorized  the  issue  of  bonds  for  three-fourths 
of  the  stock,  the  remaining  one-fourth  being  subscribed  by  pri- 
vate individuals.  R.  C.  Pearson  was  chosen  president,  and  J. 
C.  Turner  engineer.  It  was  the  latter  gentleman  who  first  sur- 
veyed a  route  over  the  Blue  Ridge  via  Swannanoa  gap.  The 
construction  of  this  road  reached  to  within  five  miles  of  Morgan- 
ton,  when  the  war  opened  and  all  operations  were  stopped. 
After  the  war,  under  the  successive  administrations  as  president 
of  A.  M.  Powell,  S.  M.  D.  Tate,  and  Major  J.  W.  Wilson, 
work  was  continued.  The  latter  gentleman,  combining  the 
office  of  engineer  with  that  of  president,  took  the  first  loco- 
motive around  the  coils  and  through  the  tunnels  into  the  Swan- 
nanoa valley.  The  road  was  sold  and  passed  under  its  present 
management,  which  is  associated  with  the  Richmond  &  Dan- 
ville company,  in  the  spring  of  1880.  It  has  bee,n  completed 
to  its  junction  with  the  E.  T.  V.  &  G.  R.  R.,  and  is  being  pushed 
over  and  through  the  massive  transverse  chains  of  the  plateau 
to  its  western  terminus.  The  scenery  along  its  lines  is  spoken 
of  at  various  places  in  the  following  pages.  The  Blue  Ridge 
has  been  crossed  by  the  Spartanburg  &  Asheville  railroad,  and 
there  is  good  ground  for  hope  that  the  Carolina  Central  will  be 
extended  from  Shelby  to  Asheville  at  an  early  day.  All  these 
enterprises  are  necessarily  expensive,  and  consequently  show 


Military  Reminiscences.  227 

the  confidence  which  capitalists  place  in  the  future  of  the  region 
whose  resources  will  be  opened  up. 

On  account  of  the  secluded  position  of  Western  North  Caro- 
lina, there  is  little  to  be  said  under  the  head  of  military  remin- 
iscences. The  mountain  men,  in  the  War  of  1812,  shouldered 
their  rifles  and  marched  to  distant  climes,  in  defense  of  their 
country's  honor. 

During  the  late  struggle,  this  section  escaped  the  desolation 
which  the  greater  portion  of  the  South  suffered.  Stoneman's 
Federal  cavalry  made  a  raid,  after  the  "surrender"  of  Lee  into 
the  trans-Blue  Ridge  country.  He  passed  by  Hendersonville 
and  Asheville,  whence  a  Confederate  fort  had  been  erected. 
Dividing  into  small  squads,  his  men  pillaged  the  country  as 
they  went  west. 

A  dare-devil  expedition  was  accomplished  by  the  Federal 
raider  Kirk,  who,  with  his  company  of  325  East  Tennesseeans, 
crossed  the  mountains,  through  Mitchell  county  into  Burke, 
surprised  a  larger  force  of  Confederates,  and  succeeded  in  captur- 
ing all  their  stores  and  taking  the  men  prisoners  of  war. 

The  mountain  men  were  divided  in  sentiment  and  action  dur- 
ing the  war.  Most  of  the  property  hglders  joined  the  Con- 
federate forces,  while  the  poorer  classes  refused  to  volunteer, 
and,  when  conscripted  into  the  service,  deserted  at  the  first  op- 
portunity. There  were  exceptions,  of  course,  with  respect  to 
both  classes — some  of  the  larger  freeholders  being  Union  men, 
and  some  of  the  poor  people  in  the  coves  being  enthusiastically 
loyal  to  the.  state. 

The  Southern  Alleghanies,  though  "the  oldest  in  the  world," 
have  not  yet  settled  down  to  a  state  of  absolute  rest.  Shocks 
and  noises  in  several  localities  have,  frequently  been  felt  and 
heard,  much  to  the  discomfort  of  inhabitants  of  the  vicinity. 
There  are  reminiscences  in  the  northern  part  -of  Haywood 
county  of  shocks  as  early  as  1812,  and  from  time  to  time  ever 


228  Historical  Resume. 

since.  The  restless  mountain  is  in  a  spur  of  the  New  Found 
range,  near  the  head  of  Fine's  creek.  General  Clingman  was 
the  first  to  call  public  attention  to  it,  which  he  did  in  an  elabor- 
ate paper  in  1848.  There  are  cracks  in  the  solid  granite  of 
which  the  ridge  is  composed,  and  towards  its  foot,  chasms  four 
feet  wide,  extending  at  places  in  all  directions,  like  the  radiating 
cracks  made  in  a  rock  by  a  light  blast  of  gunpowder.  There 
are  evidences  of  trees  having  been  thrown  violently  down,  and 
a  trustworthy  gentleman  declares  that  a  huge  oak  was  split  from 
root  to  top  by  the  opening  of  a  chasm  under  it.  General 
Clingman  says: 

"  I  observed  a  large  poplar  tree  which  had  been  split  through  its  center  so  as  to  leave 
one-half  of  it  standing  30  or  40  feet  high.  The  crack  or  opening  under  it  was  not  an 
inch  wide,  but  could  be  traced  for  hundreds  of  yards,  making  it  evident  that  there  had 
been  an  opening  wide  enough  to  split  the  tree,  and  that  then  the  sides  of  the  chasm  had 
returned  to  their  original  position  without  having  split  so  as  to  prevent  the  contact  of 
broken  rocks." 

A  great  mass  of  granite  was  broken  into  fragments,  and  after 
one  of  these  shocks  every  loose  stone  and  piece  of  wood  was 
moved  from  its  original  place.  These  jars,  accompanied  with 
noise,  used  to  occur  at  intervals  of  two  or  three  years,  but 
none  have  been  felt  for  some  time. 

About  the  year  1829  occurred  a  violent  earthquake,  covering 
a  limited  area,  in  Cherokee  county.  One  of  the  Valley  River 
mountains  was  cleft  open  for  several  hundred  yards,  making  a 
chasm  which  is  still  visible. 

Silas  McDowell,  a  careful  observer,  late  of  Macon  county, 
stated,  in  a  paper,  that  there  was  a  violent  shock  on  the  divide 
between  Ellijay  and  Cullasaja  many  years  ago.  A  chasm  opened 
in  the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  accompanied  with  crashing 
sounds.  Satoola  mountain,  bounding  the  Highlands  plateau, 
it  has  been  stated,  has  crevices  from  which  smoke  issues  at 
intervals. 

In  Madison  county  there  is  a  mountain  which  has  been  known 


First  Scientific  Explorations.  229 

to  rumble  and  smoke.  The  warm  springs  are  heated  by  vol- 
canic action,  probably  by  hot  gas  from  the  earth's  molten  inte- 
rior, seeking  an  outlet  through  crevices  in  the  rocks  and  coming 
in  contact  with  underground  water  currents. 

The  most  famous  of  the  restless  mountains  of  North  Car- 
olina is  "  Shaking  Bald."  The  first  shock,  which  occurred 
February  10,  1874,  was  followed  in  such  quick  succession  by 
others,  as  to  cause  general  alarm  in  the  vicinity.  This  moun- 
tain for  a  time  received  national  attention.  Within  six  months 
more  than  100  shocks  were  felt. 

The  general  facts  of  these  terrestrial  disturbances  have  never 
been  disputed,  but  concerning  their  cause,  there  has  been  widely 
diversified  speculation.  Is  there  an  upheaval  or  subsidence  of 
the  mountains  gradually  going  on?  Are  they  the  effect  of  ex- 
plosions caused  by  the  chemical  action  of  minerals  under  the 
influence  of  electric  currents;  are  they  the  effect  of  gases 
forced  through  fissures  in  the  rocks  from  the  center  of  the 
earth,  seeking  an  outlet  at  the  surface?  These  are  questions 
on  which  scientists  differ.  Be  the  cause  what  it  may,  there  is 
no  occasion  to  fear  the  eruption  of  an  active  volcano. 

The  scientific  exploration  of  the  grand  summit  of  the  Alle- 
ghany  system,  was  hinted  at  in  the  introduction,  but  on  account 
of  the  great  names  associated  with  the  subject  it  is  worthy  of 
fuller  treatment.  The  extraordinary  botanical  resources  of  the 
mountains  were  first  made  known  by  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished botanists  of  his  day,  Andre  Michaux,  who  made  a 
tour  of  the  valleys  and  some  of  the  heights  in  1787.  In  1802 
his  son,  an  equally  distinguished  botanist,  scaled  the  loftiest 
range.  Both  these  naturalists  reported  having  found  trees  and 
other  specimens  of  alpine  growth,  that  they  had  observed  no- 
where else  south  of  Canada.  This  was  the  first  hint  that  the 
Black  mountains  were  the  highest  summits  east  of  the  Rockies. 


230  Historical  Resume. 

This  judgment  was  based  entirely  upon  the  plant  life  of  the 
region  explored. 

It  was  from  entirely  different  data  that  John  C.  Calhoun 
arrived  at  the  same  opinion  in  1825.  David  L.  Swain,  after- 
wards governor  and  president  of  the  State  University,  was  then 
a  member  of  the  legislature  from  Buncombe,  his  native  county. 
Calhoun  was  Vice-President  of  the  United  States.  Meeting  each 
other  in  Raleigh,  the  latter  made  a  playful  allusion  to  their 
height,  saying  that  in  that  respect  they  were  like  General  Wash- 
ington. "We  can  also,"  said  the  Vice-President,  "congratu- 
late ourselves  on  another  fact,  that  we  live  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
highest  land  east  of  the  Rocky  mountains." 

"The  suggestion,"  says  Governor  Swain,  "took  me  entirely 
by  surprise,  and  I  inquired  whether  the  fact  had  been  as- 
certained? He  replied  that  it  had  not  been  by  measurement, 
but  a  very  slight  examination  of  the  map  would  satisfy  me  it 
was  so." 

Dr.  Elisha  Mitchell,  of  the  State  University,  five  years  later, 
concurred  in  the  opinion  of  Vice-President  Calhoun,  and  an- 
nounced to  the  Board  of  Public  Improvements  his  intention  to 
make  a  systematic  geographical  exploration.  In  the  year  1835, 
with  no  other  interest  than  that  of  contributing  to  scientific 
knowledge,  he  made  the  first  barometrical  measurements  west 
of  the  Blue  Ridge.  With  great  labor  and  infinite  patience  he 
climbed  the  several  peaks  of  the  Blacks.  In  the  language  of  a 
subsequent  explorer:  "At  the  time  Dr. Mitchell  gave  his  obser- 
vations with  regard  to  the  height  of  the  Black  mountain  it  was 
more  inaccessible  than  now,  by  reason  of  the  progress  of  the 
settlements  around  its  base,  so  that  he  was  liable  to  be  misled, 
thwarted  by  unforeseen  obstacles,  in  his  efforts  to  reach  particular 
parts  of  the  chain,  and  when  he  did  attain  some  point  at  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  nature  was  too  much  exhausted  to  allow  more 
than  one  observation  as  to  the  immediate  locality."  Any  one 


The  Tragedy  of  the  Blacks.  231 

who  has  left  the  beaten  path,  and  attempted  to  penetrate  the 
tangled  thickets  of  laurel  on  the  slopes  of  the  Black,  will  have 
some  conception  of  the  explorer's  difficulty. 

Dr.  Mitchell's  report  was  the  first  authoritative  announcement 
of  the  superior  altitude  of  the  highest  southern  summit  to  Mt. 
Washington.  This  report  gave  rise  to  much  controversy  among 
geographers,  but  its  correctness  was  soon  universally  yielded. 

In  1844  Dr.  Mitchell  again  visited  the  region,  making  observa- 
tions in  the  interest  of  both  geology  and  geography,  and  to 
confirm  his  former  measurements.  About  this,  time  Hon. 
Thomas  L.  Clingman,  then  a  member  of  Congress,  and  a  man 
of  scientific  tastes,  began  to  make  observations  in  different  sec- 
tions— the  Balsams,  Smokies,  and  Blacks.  In  the  latter  group 
he  subsequently  published  that  he  had  found  a  higher  peak 
than  the  one  measured  by  Professor  Mitchell.  In  the  contro- 
versy which  followed,  the  fact  of  General  Clingman  having 
measured  the  highest  point  of  ground  was  undisputed.  The 
question  was:  Had  Dr.  Mitchell  measured  the  same  peak,  or 
had  he  mistaken  another  for  the  highest,  and  ceased  his  inves- 
tigations without  going  to  the  top  of  the  true  dome? 

Admitting  the  possibility  of  having  been  mistaken,  the  Pro- 
fessor, in  the  summer  vacation  of  1857,  embraced  the  first 
opportunity  to  review  his  measurements.  Accompanied  by 
his  son,  Charles  Mitchell,  he  began  at  the  railroad  line  to  run  a 
line  of  levels,  that  he  might  test  the  accuracy  of  his  barometer. 
They  reached  the  Mountain  house,  half  way  up  the  Black,  at 
noon  on  Saturday,  June  27th.  Dismissing  his  son  and  assist- 
ant, the  professor  left,  saying  he  intended  to  cross  the  range  by 
the  route  he  had  gone  in  1844,  desiring  to  see  the  guide  who  at 
that  time  accompanied  him.  On  Monday  Charles  Mitchell 
climbed  to  the  place  appointed  to  meet  his  father,  but  the  day 
passed  without  his  appearance.  The  next  day  passed  "He 
must  have  met  with  some  accidental  delay,"  was  the  consola- 


232  Historical  Resume. 

tion.  But  another  day's  absence  dispelled  this  hope.  On 
Thursday  morning  the  alarm  was  sprdad.  Messengers  were 
sent  across  the  range  to  the  valleys  below.  He  had  not  reached 
the  place  for  which  he  had  started.  Friday  evening  the  report 
of  his  disappearance  reached  Asheville.  From  every  direction 
came  men  of  all  grades  and  avocations  in  life.  Following  them 
came  their  wives  and  sisters,  anxious  to  help  in  the  search  for 
the  lost  man's  body  in  that  wilderness  of  more  than  100,000 
acres,  whose  funereal  gloom  conceals  caverns  and  pitfalls  into 
which  the  incautious  traveler  may  disappear. 

At  least  500  men  were  engaged  in  the  search,  which  began 
on  Friday;  within  one  day  of  a  week  after  the  professor  was 
last  seen.  It  was  Tuesday  before  the  trace  of  human  footsteps 
was  discovered.  Thomas  Wilson,  who  had  acted  as  the  pro- 
fessors's  guide,  in  1844,  in  following  the  course  they  had  then 
taken,  distinguished  a  mark  in  the  green  turf,  near  the  highest 
summit.  Wilson  declared  it  to  be  the  summit  they  had  both 
been  on,  and  the  professor  had  measured.  The  old  hunter, 
followed  by  rugged  mountaineers,  hurried  down  a  branch  of 
Cane  creek.  The  marks  of  the  wanderer  became  plainer,  as  the 
ground  became  rougher.  Down  a  splashing  stream  they  fol- 
lowed for  more  than  a  mile,  to  a  sheer  waterfall  of  about  forty 
feet.  A  broken  laurel  branch  and  torn  moss  told  the  story. 
Below  in  the  circular  pool  fourteen  feet  deep,  of  crystal  water, 
lay  the  body  perfectly  preserved. 

The  place  has  been  thus  described: 

"The  pure  waters  enveloped  him  in  their  winding  sheet  of  crystal;  the  leaping  cataract 
sang  his  requiem  in  that  wondrous  and  eternal  song,  of  which  old  ocean  furnishes  the 
grand,  all  comprehensive  key.  Cream  and  white  flowers  flaked  the  billowy  thickets  of  the 
dark  green  laurel,  and  tall  conical  firs,  delicately  tapering  spruces,  interlocked  their  weep- 
ing branches,  from  shore  to  shore." 

Enveloping  the  body  in  a  sheet,  they  carried  it  up  the  moun- 
tain to  the  summit,  whence,  at  the  request  of  the  family,  it  was 
conveyed  to  Asheville  for  burial.  A  year  later  it  was  dis- 


A  Happy  People.  233 

interred,  re-carried,  and  amid  a  large  concourse  of  people, 
deposited  on  the  verf  pinnacle  of  the  Appalachians.  There 
rests  the  "  Christian  hero's  dust." 

Since  his  death,  Professor  Mitchell's  claim  to  the  credit  of 
having  measured  the  peak  which  bears  his  name  is  admitted. 
He  measured  a  great  many  other  pinnacles,  but  owing  to  the 
imperfection  of  his  instruments  and  other  causes,  he  was  some- 
what inaccurate.  The  credit  of  having  made  the  first  extensive 
survey  and  accurate  measurements,  is  due  Arnold  Guyot,  pro- 
fessor of  physical  geography  in  Princeton  college.  He  was 
assisted  in  his  long  and  unremunerated  task,  covering  three 
summer  vacations,  by  General  Clingman,  M.  E.  Grand-Pierre, 
and  E.  Sandoz.  Their  survey  was  begun  in  the  Blacks  in  1856. 
Professor  Guyot's  report  has  been  revised  and  completed  by 
Dr.  W.  C.  Kerr,  the  late  state  geologist  of  North  Carolina. 

To  Dr.  Curtis,  of  the  University,  the  state  is  indebted  for  an 
exposition  of  its  botanical  resources.  He  embodied  in  his  col- 
lection and  several  reports,  the  researches  of  Professors  Gray 
and  Carey,  who,  as  early  as  1841,  traversed  the  highest  ranges. 
Had  Dr.  Curtis'  labor  been  appreciated  by  the  state  govern- 
ment, North  Carolina  would  have  one  of  the  best  collections  of 
botanical  specimens  in  the  country. 

We  have  now  briefly  sketched  the  settlement  and  leading  inci- 
dents in  the  progress  of  this  highland  country.  The  reader  has 
no  doubt  reached  the  conclusion  that  the  mountaineers  must  be  a 
happy  people,  for  "  their  annals  are  tiresome."  Should  he  visit 
the  region,  and  stop  in  the  homes  scattered  through  the  pictur- 
esque valleys,  he  will  find  the  confirmation  of  that  conclusion. 
If  the  inhabitants  have  little  beyond  the  lavishments  of  nature 
to  boast  of,  they  have  the  compensating  knowledge  that  they 
have  little  to  be  ashamed  of  Their  race  and  blood  has  fur- 
nished to  the  country  three  of  its  Presidents — Jackson,  Polk, 
and  Johnson;  but  greater  than  any  of  these,  of  the  same  kin, 


234  Historical  Resume. 

was  that  splendid  specimen  of  statesmanship,  John  C.  Calhoun, 
born  in  the  sub-montane  district  of  South  Carolina.  The  same 
race  has  given  to  the  gallery  of  frontier  heroes,  Daniel  Boone, 
of  the  Yadkin,  and  David  Crockett,  of  the  Nollichucky.  Old 
Buncombe  itself  has  filled  the  governor's  chair  with  two  incum- 
bents, Swain  and  Vance ;  has  given  the  State  University  a 
president,  Swain  ;  and  to  the  United  States  Senate  two  of  the 
most  useful  representatives  the  state  has  ever  had — Clingman 
and  Vance.  Of  such  ancestry,  and  of  such  representatives  of 
its  capacity  for  development,  any  section  might  be  proud.  Of 
the  attention  its  natural  features  has  received  from  the  outside 
world,  it  has  scarcely  less  reason  for  pride  and  congratulation. 


IN  THE  SADDLE. 


And  the  steed  it  shall  be  shod 
All  in  silver,  housed  in  azure, 

And  the  mane  shall  swim  the  wind; 

And  the  hoofs  along  the  sod 
Shall  flash  onward  and  keep  measure 

Till  the  shepherds  look  behind. 

— Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

/HERE  is  something  in  a  long  ride  on  horseback  that  time 


cannot  obliterate.  At  its  recollection  one  feels  again  the 
motion  of  the  horse,  and  can  well  imagine  the  bridle-reins  in 
his  fingers.  With  these  sensations  come  the  cool  breath  of 
morning,  the  smooth  stretches  of  road  through  sunlight  and 
shadow,  the  rough  trail  by  wild,  rushing  waters,  the  vistas  of 
rich  meadows  and  fields,  and  the  green  and  purple  outlines  of 
mountains.  Such  scenes  become  so  impressed  upon  the  mem- 
ory that  one  might  well  question  with  Byron : 

"Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them  ?  " 

This  sketch  is  of  a  ride  taken   by  the   writer,   through  some 
of  the  most  scenic  sections  of  the   mountains,     Treating,  as  it 

237 


238  In  the  Saddle. 

does,  of  the  'country  and  people  as  they  are,  the  tourist  in 
quest  for  information,  preparatory  to  a  trip  through  the  same 
region,  need  look  no  further  than  these  pages. 

In  the  interest  of  my  pocket,  I  hired  a  sound  young  horse, 
at  thirty-three  and  a  third  cents  per  day.  He  was  my  selection 
from  several  that  could  have  been  taken  from  the  same  class  of 
people,  at  a  schedule  of  prices  ranging  from  twenty-five  to  fifty 
cents.  If  the  tourist  intends  traveling  for  a  month  or  more, 
the  wisest  plan  is  to  buy  a  horse,  and  then  sell  at  the  finish. 
Money  can  be  saved  by  this  operation,  unless  being  ignorant 
concerning  horse  flesh,  he  falls  into  the  hands  of  an  unscrupu- 
lous jockey. 

It  was  in  August,  and  clear  bright  skies  for  a  season  were 
predicted  by  the  weather  prophets,  when,  early  one  morning, 
I  mounted  my  steed  before  an  Asheville  hotel.  In  the  saddle- 
bags for  myself  was  an  extra  suit  of  blue  flannel,  two  pairs  of 
socks,  a  rubber  coat,  comb,  and  brush ;  and  for  the  horse  two 
shoes  and  a  paper  of  nails,  to  provide  against  losses  which 
might  occur  twenty-five  or  more  miles  from  where  a  horse-shoe 
could  be  procured.  Country  blacksmiths  depend  to  a  large 
extent  upon  their  customers  to  furnish  the  materials  for  their 
work. 

There  is  a  road  that  winds  from  the  center  of  Asheville,  on- 
ward down  hill  and  up,  by  pleasant  door-yards,  white-washed, 
stone-wall  fences,  and  trimmed  groves,  to  the  bridge  over  the 
Swannanoa  river.  Just  beyond  it,  a  wide  road,  turning  sharp 
toward  the  left,  is  the  route  to  Hickory  Nut  gap,  and  the  com- 
paratively level  county  of  Rutherford  beyond. 

From  this  point  the  road  runs  through  pleasant  valleys,  by 
mills,  small  streams,  dwellings,  and  under  forests,  for  eight 
miles,  to  the  base  of  the  mountains,  whereon  is  the  opening  of 
the  noted  gap — the  gateway  to  the  picturesque  region  of  Broad 
river.  On  the  summit  of  the  pass  a  limited  view  cam  be  had  of 


Attempting  an  Intennew.  239 

Buncombe  county  valley  lands,  dotted  with  cornfields,  check- 
ered with  forests  and  mountain-bounded. 

The  road  now  begins  to  descend  through  beautiful  sylvan 
scenes,  combining  all  the  gloom,  luxuriance,  wildness,  and 
beauty  of  rocks,  vines,  pines,  rhododendrons,  crystal  waters, 
dark  ravines,  and  blue  streaks  of  sky. 

Where  the  Broad  river  crosses  the  road  with  a  wide  sweep,  I 
drew  rein  before  a  frame  dwelling,  whose  scanty  farm  lands 
gave  no  promise  of  yields  which  would  afford  enough  extra 
money,  by  ten  years'  savings,  to  be  used  in  painting  its  dingy 
sides.  Fastened  to  it  was  a  porch  with  one  end  concealed  by 
trailing  vines,  choked  with  dust.  Before  the  weed-grown  potato 
patch  was  a  rickety,  board  fence,  on  the  top  of  which  was  seated 
a  man  dressed  in  seedy,  dusty,  brown  shirt,  pantaloons,  hat, 
and  shoes. 

Upon  my  inquiry  whether  dinner  could  be  afforded  here  for 
horse  and  man,  he  slid  lazily  off  his  perch  with  the  remark  : 

"  Plenty  oats  an'  hay  ;  no  corn.      Will  ye  lite  ?  " 

The  man  started  with  my  horse  for  the  stable,  and  I  went 
toward  the  house.  High  steps  reached  up  to  the  porch.  On 
the  latter  stood  a  table,  white  with  powdered  plaster  of  Paris, 
and  covered  with  dental  instruments  and  teeth  for  false  sets. 
Before  it  sat  at  work  a  middle-aged  man. 

"  Pleasant  day,"  I  said. 

"Eh?  What's  that?"  wrinkling  his  narrow  forehead. 

"Fine  weather,"  I  repeated. 

"Can't  hear  you,"  shoving  his  chair  a  little  nearer  mine. 
He  was  evidently  deaf. 

"A  pleasant  day,  this!  "  I  thundered. 

"Damn  the  weather!     Where  you  from?" 

"  Asheville." 

"What's  your  business?" 

"Seeing  the  country." 


240  In  the  Saddle. 

"Seein'  the  country  ?  "  Then  with  a  cynical  curl  of  his  lip, 
"Poor  business,"  and  he  continued,  whittling  at  his  plaster 
cast. 

I  felt  interested  in  the  man.  His  cordial  manners  prompted 
me  to  fall  on  his  neck,  but  I  restrained  myself.  Then  I  took 
up  the  examination. 

"  You're  not  a  native.  You  have  a  foreign  air  about  you, 
you  have,"  I  shouted. 

"You're  right." 

"  Where  do  you  hail  from  ?" 

"Been  living  with  the  Osage  Indians  for  the  last  twelve 
years." 

I  thought  as  much.  He  was  all  Indian,  and  I  concluded  to 
avoid  him,  but  he  did  not  intend  to  drop  the  subject  so  easily. 

"Do  you  see  that  Osage  relic  ?"  pointing  to  an  Indian  blanket 
hanging  on  a  hook  against  the  wall.  "That's  one  of  the  things 
I  brought  back  with  me.  I'm  a  man  with  a  history.  I  can 
give  you  some  points  about  a  country  that  is  a  country." 

He  again  lapsed  into  silence.  On  the  invitation  to  procure 
points,  I  determined  to  interview  him. 

"What  were  you  doing  among  the  Indians?  Hunting?"  I 
asked. 

"No." 

"A  trader?" 

"No." 

"A  dentist?" 

"No." 

"What  then  ?" 

"None  of  your  damn  business!" 

I  felt  disconcerted.  Evidently,  the  man  was  a  gentleman, — 
he  objected  to  being  interviewed.  The  tack  looked  like  a  bad 
one ;  clouds  a  little  too  electric  for  fine  sailing.  A  thin-haired 
woman  in  a  calico  dress  and  rough  shoes,  with  a  care-worn 


An  Exceptional  Meal.  241 

expression  on  her  pale  face,  was  sitting  at  one  end  of  the  porch. 
She  now  spoke,  in  a  voice  inaudible  to  the  unapproachable : 

"  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him.  He's  been  drinkin'. 
Hit  allers  makes  him  ugly." 

"Who  is  he?"   I  whispered. 

"  My  husband.  We've  been  married  a  year  ;  soon  arter  he 
cum  from  the  West  " 

And  then  she  sighed  and  looked  out  across  the  rickety  fence, 
the  roaring  waters  of  the  Broad  river,  the  brown  mill  and  the  few 
houses  by  it,  and  then  at  the  stony-faced  mountains  beyond.  I 
sighed  in  sympathy. 

A  bare-footed  black  girl  stuck  her  head  out  of  the  door  and 
announced  that  dinner  was  ready.  Being  tired  and  hungry,  I 
was  not  backward  in  answering  this  notice,  and  moved  into  the 
dining-room.  On  my  plate,  after  helping  myself  from  every- 
thing on  the  table,  were  a  chunk  of  fat  pork,  a  piece  of  doughy, 
hot,  wheat  bread,  and  some  boiled  green  beans.  A  tin  cup  of 
butter-milk  was  beside  the  mess  to  wash  it  down.  Let  me  say 
right  here  that  this  was  an  exceptional  meal !  I  have  been  on 
many  tramps  and  rides  through  the  Carolina  mountains,  but 
never  had  I  met  with  such  a  reception  and  such  fare.  They 
were  not  backward  in  demanding  half  a  dollar,  the  usual  price 
asked  by  the  mountaineer  for  supper,  lodging  and  breakfast  for 
a  man  and  his  horse. 

The  man  in  brown,  as  he  mended  my  saddle  bags  after  din- 
ner, filled  my  ears  with  a  recital  of  the  mysteries  of  Bat  cave. 
He  represented  it  as  the  wonder  of  the  mountains.  Its  gloomy 
depths  contained  chanibers  of  marvelous  dimensions,  while  bats, 
the  unholy  habitants  of  darkness,  stuck  to  the  walls  and  flitted 
in  its  precincts.  He  volunteered  as  a  guide,  and  as  it  lay  on 
the  way  to  Chimney  Rock  hotel,  I  mounted  and  rode  along 
with  him. 

By  the  bouldered  river,  before  the  guide's  cabin,  I  tied  my 


242  In  the  Saddle. 

horse,  and,  by  means  of  a  foot-log,  crossed  to  the  opposite  bank. 
It  was  a  half-mile  walk.  We  waded  through  the  soft  soil  of 
several  corn-fields,  pitched  almost  perpendicular  on  the  moun- 
tain side  ;  climbed  a  number  of  rail  fences,  and  after  a  steep 
ascent  over  tree-trunks  and  rocks,  we  arrived  at  the  mouth  of 
the  cave.  An  air  as  cold  as  a  winter  lake  breeze  came  from 
the  darkness.  It  chilled  us  through  and  through.  We  went 
in  without  torches.  There  were  rifts  in  the  apex  of  the  roof, 
high  above,  through  which  sunlight  poured,  dimly  lighting  up 
the  whole  interior.  It  failed  most  miserably  to  meet  my  expec- 
tations. 

"  Where  are  your  bats,  Dotson  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Hit's  cu'rous  ;  I  don't  see  nary  one." 

Dotson  shaded  his  eyes,  as  he  spoke,  and  peered  down  into 
a  well-like  hole,  that  broke  away  from  our  feet,  and  whose  op- 
posite wall,  rock-piled  in  front,  ascended  straight  upward  till  the 
sides  closed. 

"  Nor  do  I,"  I  returned  ;  "  where  are  they  ?  " 

'  *  Hit  'pears  they  aint  'ere.  I  'low  they  been  skeered  out," 
he  drawled,  rubbing  his  cheek. 

That  was  all  the  satisfaction  I  obtained  in  regard  to  bats.  A 
little  curiosity  is  connected  with  the  cave,  from  the  fact  that  it 
is  in  granite  rocks.  At  some  convulsion  of  the  mountain's 
crust,  the  walls  of  granite  were  rent  asunder,  and  then  their 
tops,  meeting  again,  left  an  opening  between  them.  The  air  in 
it  is  cold  and  dry,  for  there  is  no  water  dripping  in  its  interior. 
There  is  another  smaller,  but  deeper,  cave  near  the  one  just  de- 
scribed. Torches  are  needed  and  one  must  crawl  to  enter  it. 
The  rocks  around  it  are  also  granite. 

I  was  on  my  horse  again.  The  scenery  for  the  next  two 
miles  is  of  a  sublime  description.  The  stone  portals  of  a  col- 
lossal  gateway  rise  against  the  sky.  The  large  mountain  on  the 
north  is  the  Round  Top.  It  presents  a  red  cracked-stone  front, 


Along  the  Broad  River.  243 

and  resembles  the  venerable  ruins  of  a  massive  building,  once 
swept  by  fire.  Opposite  to  it  is  a  line  of  Titanic  stone  cliffs — 
the  front  of  Chimney  Rock  mountain.  A  luxuriant  forest 
grows  half  way  up  its  precipitous  slope  to  the  foot  of  the  cliffs 
of  bare  rock,  in  height  over  1,000  feet.  A  silver  thread  of 
water  can  be  seen  springing  from  the  top-most  edge,  and  falling 
down  the  bare  face.  It  is  the  highest  water-fall  in  the  mountain 
system.  The  eastern  end  of  the  mountain  projects  its  top  for- 
ward, an  abrupt  headland.  Its  summit  is  covered  with  trees. 
From  the  glimpses  caught  of  it  along  the  shaded  river,  one 
might  liken  it  to  the  bare  forehead  of  some  Caesar,  with  laurel 
crown,  overlooking  the  distant  lands  of  Rutherford  county. 

Around  the  traveler,  as  he  rides,  are  beautiful  wood-land 
landscapes.  A  river,  dammed  with  brown  boulders,  flows  by 
the  roadside.  Where  its  channel  narrows,  it  runs  deep  and 
smooth  under  the  birches,  oaks  and  pines ;  then  at  the  shal- 
lows, among  the  rocks,  it  becomes  a  foaming  torrent.  The  road 
is  on  a  stone  causeway,  high  above  the  crooked  stream.  Be- 
tween the  over-arching  trees,  glimpses  of  level  road,  yellow  and 
dustyv  can  be  seen  at  times.  In  the  center  of  the  valley,  that 
widens  out  from  the  foot  of  the  stone-fronted  mountains,  is  a 
comfortable  farm-house,  enlarged  for  summer  boarders,  and 
kept  by  General  G.  W.  Logan.  It  is  the  central  point  to  view 
this  scenic  region  of  the  mountains.  It  is  reached  by  good 
roads  from  Rutherfordton,  seventeen  miles ;  Hendersonville, 
nineteen  miles  ;  Asheville,  twenty-three  miles  ;  and  Shelby,  the 
terminus  of  the  Carolina  Central  railroad,  forty  miles  distant. 

One  mile  from  the  hotel  are  the  Pools.  The  stream  is  known 
as  Pool  creek.  It  seeks  its  level  down  a  steep  ravine,  clothed 
principally  with  pines  and  oaks.  Over  three  ledges  of  brown 
rock,  whose  edges  still  remain  abrupt,  the  crystal  waters  of  the 
stream  plunge  in  quick  succession,  in  as  many  thundering 
cascades.  Where  the  cascades  fall  are  basins,  or  pot-holes, 


244  In  the  Saddle. 

formed  perfectly  round  by  the  whirling  of  the  waters.  They 
are  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  in  diameter  and  of  fabulous  depth. 
The  lower  one  is  the  largest,  and  has  been  sounded  (as  any  one 
in  the  neighborhood,  with  straight  face,  will  tell  you)  to  the 
depth  of  200  feet  without  striking  bottom.  Fifteen  feet  of 
the  stock  end  of  a  giant  pine  projects  out  of  it.  The  beauty 
and  wildness  of  the  spot  could  not  be  enhanced  by  a  knowledge, 
even  if  true,  that  a  depth  of  more  than  200  feet  of  water  lay  in 
the  lower  pool. 

On  the  edge  of  the  ford  of  the  river,  our  party  halted  to  wit- 
ness a  sunset.  It  was  an  admirable  point  for  observation.  Be- 
fore us  spread  a  level,  yellow  field,  forming  the  bottom  of  a 
beautiful,  little  valley.  High  mountains  bound  this  vale  on 
north  and  south,  while  directly  in  front  of  us,  like  companion 
sentinels,  guarding  the  western  gateway  down  which  the  sun 
was  to  march,  stand  Round  Top  and  Chimney  Rock  mountains. 
Behind  Chimney  Rock,  trending  toward  the  west,  arise  in 
close  succession,  a  number  of  mountains  with  distinct,  broken 
summits, — along  palisade,  fencing  the  gap  in  whose  depths 
rushes  the  Broad  river.  In  the  center  of  the  west,  stands  Bear 
Wallow  mountain,  the  last  visible  knob  of  Hickory  Nut 
gap.  The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  white  cumuli  that  capped 
this  mountain.  Streamers  of  golden  light,  like  the  spokes  of  a 
celestial  chariot,  whose  hub  was  the  hidden  sun,  barred  the 
western  sky.  The  clouds  shone  with  edges  of  beaten  gold. 
Their  centers,  with  every  minute,  changed  to  all  hues  imagin- 
able. The  fronts  of  the  sentinel  mountains  were  somber  in  the 
shadows,  while  the  gap  was  radiant  with  the  light  pouring 
through  it,  and  every  pine  on  the  top  of  the  palisade  stood 
black  against  the  glowing  sky. 

It  was  dusk  a  few  minutes  after,  but  the  roar  of  the  river  con- 
tinued; the  scents  of  summer  filled  the  air;  the  trees  bowed  in 
luxuriant  greenness  over  the  road ;  the  chirping  of  insects  made 


A  Shaking  Mountain.  24$ 

musical  the  valley ;  the  mountains  rose  gloomy  and  magnificent 
in  the  twilight. 

The  famous  Bald  mountain  forms  the  north  wall  of  the  val- 
ley. Its  sterile  face  is  distinctly  visible  from  the  hotel  porch. 
Caves  similar  to  Bat  cave  are  high  on  its  front.  In  1874,  Bald 
mountain  pushed  itself  into  prominence  by  shaking  its  eastern 
end  with  an  earthquake-like  rumble,  that  rattled  plates  on  pan- 
try-shelves in  the  cabins  of  the  valleys,  shook  windows  to  pieces 
in  their  sashes,  and  even  startled  the  quiet  inhabitants  of  Ruther- 
fordton,  17  miles  away.  Since  then  rumblings  have  occasionally 
been  heard,  and  some  people  say  they  have  seen  smoke  rising 
in  the  atmosphere.  There  is  an  idea,  wide-spread,  that  the 
mountain  is  an  extinct  volcano.  As  evidence  of  a  crater,  they 
point  to  a  fissure  about  half  a  mile  long,  six  feet  wide  in  some 
places,  and  of  unmeasured  depth.  This  fissure,  bordered  with 
trees,  extends  across  the  eastern  end  of  the  peak.  But  the 
crater  idea  is  effectually  choked  up  by  the  fact  that  the  crack  is 
of  recent  appearance.  The  crack  widens  every  year,  and,  as  it 
widens,  stones  are  dislodged  from  the  mountain  steeps.  Their 
thundering  falls  from  the  heights  may  explain  the  rumbling, 
and  their  clouds  of  dust  account  for  what  appears  to  be  smoke. 
The  widening  of  the  crack  is  possibly  due  4to  the  gradual  up- 
heaval of  the  mountain. 

The  region  of  the  gap  is  famous  for  sensational  stories.  In 
1811,  when  known  as  Chimney  Rock  pass,  a  superstitious  tale 
of  a  spectre  cavalry  fight,  occurring  here,  was  widely  published 
in  the  newspapers  of  the  day.  The  alleged  witnesses  of  the 
spectacle  were  an  old  man  and  his  wife  living  in  the  gap  before 
Chimney  Rock  fall.  So  much  interest  was  created  in  Ruther- 
fordton  by  its  recital,  that  a  public  meeting  was  held  and  a 
delegation,  headed  by  Generals  Miller  and  Walton,  with  a 
magistrate  and  clerk,  visited  the  old  couple  and  took  their  affi- 
davits, to  this  effect:  For  several  evenings,  while  shadows 


246  In  the  Saddle. 

filled  the  pass  and  sunlight  still  lingered  on  the  mountain  sum- 
mits, they  had  seen,  from  their  doorway,  two  bodies  of  cavalry 
advance  toward  each  other  across  the  sky.  They  heard  the 
charge  sounded,  and  saw  them  meet  in  conflict,  with  flashing 
swords,  groans,  shouts  ot  victory,  and  then  disappear.  Three 
more  settlers  testified  as  witnesses  of  the  same  vision.  They 
were  all  believed  trustworthy,  but  evidently  deluded  by  some 
natural  phenomenon.  Giving  credence  to  the  tale,  explanations 
were  advanced,  but  none  are  satisfactory. 

It  is  a  half-day's  ride  of  unmarked  interest  from  the  bank  of 
Broad  river  across  the  Bald  mountains  to  the  Catawba.  The 
road  is  an  old  mail  route  to  Marion,  McDowell  county.  The 
air  was  hot  and  sultry  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when,  after 
crossing  the  Bald  mountains,  I  traveled  over  the  foot-hills 
through  woods  of  scrubby  oaks  and  pines.  The  road  was 
white,  dry,  and  dusty.  The  branches  of  the  impoverished 
trees,  hanging  with  a  melancholy  droop,  seemed  panting  with 
heat,  and  craving  the  presence  of  a  breeze.  Hawks  circled 
overhead,  and  on  a  rail  fence,  visible  at  one  break  in  the  forest, 
a  line  of  crows  was  roosting,  with  their  glossy  black  plumage 
reflecting  the  sunlight.  Their  cawing  heightened  the  effect  of 
the  scene.  A  ride  alone  through  such  scenery,  and  under  such 
influences,  tells  upon  one's  strength  and  spirits.  After  wind- 
ing through  a  beautiful  valley,  and  a  moment  later  fording  the 
Mill  fork  of  Catawba  river,  I  found  myself  in  the  little  village 
of  Old  Fort.  Its  houses  line  a  wide  street,  running  parallel 
with  the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad,  and  range  along 
.several  short  cross  streets.  A  wooded  hill  rises  back  of  it. 
During  the  Revolutionary  war,  and  after,  a  fort  with  a  strong 
stockade,  enclosing  a  spring,  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  stream. 
There  were  no  battles  fought  here,  but  many  depredations  by 
Cherokees  occurred,  in  which  several  people  were  killed  in  the 
vicinity.  It  is  from  this  fort  that  the  town  takes  its  name. 


A  Twilight  Gallop.  247 

About  an  hour  before  sunset,  on  that  August  day,  I  left  Old 
Fort,  by  way  of  a  well-traveled  road,  for  Pleasant  Gardens. 
There  is  many  a  level  stretch  for  a  gallop  along  this  road,  and  I 
improved  the  opportunities  afforded  for  a  rapid  push  on  my 
journey.  Through  the  country  I  went,  with  the  fields  on  my 
right,  and  the  woods  of  the  hills  on  my  left ;  past  large,  pleas- 
ant-looking farm  houses  in  the  midst  of  ancestral  orchards  and 
wide-spreading  farm  lands.  The  streams  are  clear,  but  slow 
and  smooth-flowing.  The  number  of  persimmon  trees  and 
hollies  along  the  roadside  mark  a  difference  between  the  woods 
of  this  section  and  those  of  the  higher  counties. 

It  was  after  one  of  my  easy  gallops,  that,  bursting  from  a 
twilight  wood,  I  beheld  lying  before  me  a  valley  scene  of  strik- 
ing beauty.  A  broad  and  level  tract  of  farming  land,  covered 
with  meadows,  corn  and  pea-fields,  stretched  away  from  the 
forested  skirts  of  the  hill-sides.  From  my  point  of  observation 
not  a  house  dotting  the  expanse  could  be  seen,  and  not  even 
the  sound  of  running  water  (a  marked  feature  of  the  higher 
valleys)  disturbed  the  evening  stillness.  A  cool  pleasant  breeze 
was  stirring,  but  it  scarcely  rustled  the  leaves  overhead.  The 
dark  outlines  of  Mackey's  mountains  filled  the  foreground,  mak- 
ing a  broken  horizon  for  the  blue  sky.  On  the  right  lay  low 
hills.  On  the  left  the  summits  of  a  lofty  line  of  peaks,  behind 
which  the  sun  was  sinking,  were  crowned  with  clouds  of  flame, 
while  the  scattered  cat-tails  held  all  the  tints  and  lustre  of 
mother  of  pearl.  That  night  I  stopped  in  Pleasant  Gardens, 
one  of  the  richest  and  most  beautiful  valleys  to  be  found  in  any 
land.  It  is  miles  in  extent.  John  S.  Brown  was  my  hospitable 
and  entertaining  host.  The  large,  frame  house  and  surround- 
ings vividly  reminded  me  of  my  native  state.  Everything 
showed  evidence  of  thrift  and  neatness,  and  withal  a  certain 
ancestral  air,  one  that  only  appears  with  age,  overhung  the  ap- 
proach to,  and  portals  of,  the  mansion.  It  was  built  a  century 


248  In  the  Saddle. 

ago,  but  many  additions  and  repairs  have  been  made  since  the 
original  log-raising.  Osage-orange  hedges  line  the  path  to  it 
under  the  cluster  of  noble  trees.  On  the  left  as  you  approach, 
only  a  few  feet  from  the  house's  foundations,  flows  Buck  creek 
with  swift,  clear  waters :  a  trout  stream  in  a  day  before  civiliza- 
tion had  cleared  its  banks. 

Under  a  clouded  sky  I  mounted  my  horse  on  the  third  morn- 
ing of  my  journey,  and  set  out  from  Pleasant  Gardens.  The 
fording  of  a  stream  is  of  so  frequent  occurrence  in  a  trip  through 
the  Carolina  mountains,  that  one  is  apt  to  have  a  confused  re- 
collection of  any  one  river  or  creek  that  he  crosses,  although 
few  are  devoid  of  beauty  or  wildness.  Those  of  the  Catawba, 
as  it  flows  through  McDowell  county,  have  lost  the  character- 
istics of  the  mountain  ford.  Boulders  and  out-cropping  ledges 
of  rock  are  absent ;  the  rush  and  roar  of  crystal  waters  have 
given  place  to  a  smooth  and  less  transparent  flow,  or  noiseless, 
dimpled  surface ;  the  banks  are  of  crumbling  soil,  and,  instead 
of  .rhododendrons  and  pines,  alders  and  willows  fringe  the 
waters'  edges. 

The  great  valleys  of  the  Catawba  are  covered  principally  with 
unfenced  fields  of  corn.  The  road  leads  through  rustling  acres, 
where  one's  horse,  guided  with  slack  rein  by  absent-minded 
rider,  can,  as  he  walks  along,  break  a  green  ear  of  corn  from 
the  standing  stalk,  without  stretching  his  neck  over  a  fence. 
To  prevent  cattle  from  running  at  large  through  these  thickly- 
planted  lands,  gates  are  swung  across  the  roads  at  the  division 
fence  of -each  plantation,  and  from  necessity,  the  traveler  must 
open  them  to  ride  through  ;  and  then,  from  moral  obligation,  he 
must  shut  them  behind  him.  The  farm-houses  are  home-like  in 
appearance.  They  denote  prosperity,  happiness  and  culture  in 
the  families  inhabiting  them.  Many  are  of  antique  architect- 
ure, and  set  back  on  level  lawns,  under  ornamental  trees  and 
flourishing  orchards. 


A  Mountain  Trail.  249 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  morning,  the  sharp  outlines  of  the 
Linville  mountains  showed  themselves  in  the  east,  and  after  an 
abrupt  turn  from  the  Bakersville  road,  Tstruck  the  North  fork 
of  the  Catawba,  and  rode  twelve  miles  along  its  picturesque 
course.  Its  waters  have  a  peculiar,  clear,  green  hue,  and  speak 
of  speckled  trout  in  their  depths  and  shaded  rapids.  Without 
a  guide,  I  could  have  followed  up  the  North  fork,  under  the 
shadows  of  Humpback  mountain,  and,  by  a  trail,  have  crossed 
the  ridge  to  the  Linville  falls ;  but  by  this  route  the  wild  scenery 
of  the  Linville  canon  is  lost.  Bryson  Magee  was  my  guide  to 
the  Burke  county  road  along  the  summit  of  Bynum's  bluff 
Just  after  a  slight  shower,  he  overtook  me  as  he  was  returning 
from  a  day's  work  for  a  North  Fork  farmer.  He  had  an  open, 
tanned  countenance,  fringed  by  a  brown  beard,  and  capped  by 
a  head  of  long  hair,  hidden  under  the  typical  mountain  hat — a 
black,  slouch  felt,  with  a  hole  for  ventilation  in  the  center  of 
the  crown  and  minus  the  band.  An  unbleached,  linen  shirt, 
crossed  by  "galluses"  which  held  his  homespun  pantaloons  in 
place,  covered  his  body.  He  wore  shoes  and  walked  leisurely. 

"  Is  there  anyone  on  this  road  who  can  guide  me  up  Bynum's 
bluff?"  I  asked  him,  after  returning  his  "howdy." 

' '  Why,  some  niggers  live  nigh  hyar  who  could  do  hit,  but 
they're  all  at  work  two  mile  below." 

"Any  one  else  I  could  get?" 

"Not  a  soul,  except — 

"Who?"  I  asked. 

"Wai,  stranger — I  reckon  you's  a  furriner — I  kin  do  hit,  but 
I'm  powerful  tired:  worked  all  day." 

When  we  arrived  at  his  log  cabin,  he  had  definitely  deter- 
termined  to  go.  It  was  then  four  o'clock,  and  clouds  were 
driving  thick  and  dark  across  the  sky.  We  tied  the  saddle-bags 
to  the  saddle,  and  then  began  the  ascent.  Bryson  led  my 
horse ;  I  walked  on  behind. 


250  In  the  Saddle. 

Before  we  had  proceeded  100  yards,  a  light  rain  began  fall- 
ing. This  did  not  deter  us,  for  Bryson,  like  all  the  denizens  of 
the  coves,  was  callous  to  dampness,  heat,  and  cold,  and  as  for 
myself,  a  rubber  coat  came  in  play.  The  flinty  ground  was  set 
with  whortleberry  bushes — a  true  indicator  of  sterility.  These 
berries  were  ripe,  and  we  gathered  them,  as  we  tramped  along 
the  trail,  while  the  clouds  grew  heavier  around  us,  and  the  rain 
swept  in  blinding  sheets  through  the  scrubby  forest.  There  was 
no  thunder  to  add  variety  to  the  storm,  only  the  moan  of  the 
wind,  and  the  sound  of  tree  tops  swaying  in  the  gusts.  The  water 
poured  in  streams  from  my  hat,  and  my  legs,  to  the  knees,  were 
soaked  from  contact  with  wet  bushes ;  but  gradually  it  cleared 
over-head,  and  when  we  reached  the  main  road,  on  the  summit 
of  the  ridge,  the  clouds  had  parted,  and  through  their  rifts  the 
sun,  still  an  hour  high,  poured  a  burning  glory  over  the  drip- 
ping forests. 

Looking  southward  in  the  direction  the  guide  pointed,  a 
mighty,  rock-topped  mountain,  lifting  itself  into  the  sunlight 
above  the  fog,  was  visible.  It  appeared  like  a  stone  wall  rising 
from  the  ocean.  Squared  off  in  sharp  outlines,  without  trees 
or  lesser  visible  vegetation  on  its  level  summit,  it  presents  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  other  peaks  of  the  Alleghanies  south. 
It  is  the  Table  Rock  mountain,  3,918  feet  in  altitude.  Hawk- 
bill,  a  peak  named  from  its  top  being  crowned  with  a  tilted 
ledge  of  moss-mantled  rock,  resembling  the  beak  of  a  hawk, 
stood  before  me  as  I  turned  toward  the  left.  Its  altitude  is 
4,090  feet.  Both  these  peaks  are  accessible  for  climbers,  and 
are  much  visited  by  tourists  curious  to  examine  the  character  of 
their  rock  formation. 

"  We  jist  hit  it,"  broke  forth  the  guide,  "a  minute  more  an' 
we  would  n't  seen  'em.  See,  the  fog's  crawlin'  up,  slow  but 
shore." 

It  was  as  he  had  said.     The  massed  vapors  in  the  low  sunk 


The  Linmlle  Canon.  251 

vales  were  being  driven  upward,  and  a  moment  later  they  had 
enfolded  Table  Rock  and  Hawk -bill,  and  were  creeping  through 
the  woods  around  us.  I  now  handed  him  fifty  cents,  the  price 
for  a  day's  common  labor  through  that  section,  and,  shaking 
hands,  we  separated.  It  was  five  miles  to  the  nearest  house, 
and  lacked  only  one  hour  of  sunset.  Three  miles  had  been 
passed  over,  when  a  sound,  as  of  some  distant  waterfall,  struck 
on  my  ears.  It  was  a  soft,  steady,  liquid  murmur.  Halting 
my  horse,  I  sat  in  the  saddle  and  listened,  then  dismounted, 
tied,  and  walking  through  the  weeds  a  few  steps,  reached  some 
broken  rocks  at  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Clinging  to  a  tree,  I 
leaned  over  and  looked  below  through  perpendicular  space  over 
1,000  feet.  I  shouted  from  the  sensations  created  by  the  won- 
derful wildness  of  the  scene. 

At  first  sight  down  into  a  canon,  that  seemed  almost  fathom- 
less, I  saw  an  inky,  black  band  stretched  through  the  depths, 
with  surface  streaked  with  silver.  It  was  the  Linville  river,  but 
distance  rendered  its  waters  motionless  to  the  vision.  A  thin 
mist  lent  an  indescribable  weirdness  to  the  scene,  and  seemed 
veiling  some  mighty  mystery  in  its  folds.  "  Wrapping  the  tall 
pines,  dwindled  as  to  shrubs  in  dizziness  of  distance,"  it  was 
being  shaken  from  its  foothold  by  varying  breezes,  broken  into 
separate  sheets  of  vapor,  and  pushed  upward  along  the  perpen- 
dicular walls.  It  curled  and  twisted  weirdly  through  the 
tangled  pines,  filling  black  rents  in  the  opposite  mountain's 
face,  shielding  a  ragged,  red  cliff  here  and  there,  but  at  every 
movement  mounting  toward  the  canon's  rim.  Soon  the  profile 
faces  on  the  upper  cliffs  jutted  out  in  clear  air ;  the  brick-like 
fronts  of  rock,  in  pine  settings  across  the  chasm  became  plainly 
visible ;  the  lower  forests  stood  free  ;  the  dark  river,  sweeping 
in  an  acute  angle,  within  stone  drop  below,  tossed  upward  its 
eternal  echo  ;  the  mists  had  clustered  in  thick  clouds  on  the 


252  /;/  the  Saddle. 

summit  of  an  unknown  peak,  and  then  all  grew  dusky  with  the 
approach  of  night. 

A  scene  is  sublime,  according  to  its  power  to  awaken  the 
sense  of  fear ;  the  more  startling,  the  more  sublime.  The  view 
of  Linville  canon  from  the  Bynum's  Bluff  road  possesses,  in  the 
writer's  opinion,  more  of  the  elements  of  sublimity  than  any 
other  landscape  in  North  Carolina.  The  region  of  the  Linville 
is  one  of  scenery  grandly  wild  and  picturesque.  The  only 
region  that  approaches  it  in  wildness  and  sublimity — being 
somewhat  similar  in  the  perpendicularity  of  its  mountains  and 
the  clearness  of  its  stream,  but  contrasting  by  the  fertility  of  its 
soil  and  luxuriance  of  its  forests — is  the  Nantihala  River  valley. 

The  Linville  range  is  a  spur  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  separated 
from  the  latter  by  the  North  Fork  valley.  It  trends  south,  and 
for  a  distance  is  the  dividing  line  between  Burke  and  McDowell. 
Its  highest  altitude  is  about  4,000  feet.  Jonas'  Ridge  runs  par- 
allel with  it  on  the  east,  and  between  them,  through  a  narrow 
gorge,  over  1,000  feet  deep,  flows  Linville  river.  The  rocks  of 
these  mountains  are  sandstones  and  quartzites.  The  soil  is 
scanty  and  sterile,  and  the  forests  scrubby.  The  falls  are  dis- 
tant from  Marion  on  the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad,  about 
twenty-five  miles,  and  reached  as  the  writer  has  described. 
From  Morgantown,  on  the  same  railroad,  they  can  be  reached 
by  a  day's  ride  in  conveyance  over  the  highway  on  the  summit 
of  the  mountains.  Hickory  is  also  a  point  from  which  to  start, 
and  one  frequently  taken  by  tourists. 

That  night  I  dried  my  clothes  at  T.  C.  Franklin's  fireside, 
one  mile  from  the  falls  of  the  Linville.  Around  the  crackling 
logs  (this  was  in  August)  was  a  small  party,  such  as  is  often 
collected  at  mountain  wayside  farm-houses.  Steaming  their 
clothes  with  me  at  the  broad  hearth,  were  two  Philadelphia 
lawyers.  A  few  days  previous,  closing  their  musty  tomes,  fil- 
ing away  their  legal  documents,  and  reconciling  importunate 


Taken  for  Highwaymen .  253 

clients  with  fair  promises,  they  had  locked  their  doors  to  silence, 
dust  and  cobwebs,  and  started  southward.  In  Virginia  they 
each  bought  a  horse,  and  equipped  like  myself,  they  were  doing 
the  mountains.  It  was  not  only  their  first  visit  to  Western 
North  Carolina,  but  their  first  trial  in  that  mode  of  traveling; 
and,  like  all  innocents  abroad,  they  had  gathered  some  interest- 
ing matters  from  personal  experience.  While  the  good-wife 
rattled  away  at  the  plates  on  a  table  just  cleared  by  us  of  every- 
thing in  the  shape  of  food,  in  spite  of  the  steady  patter  of  rain 
on  the  roof,  warmed  by  the  glowing  fire,  and  growing  enthusias- 
tic over  mutual  praise  of  the  mountain  scenery,  we  drifted  into 
the  following  conversation : 

"That  view  from  the  Roan  eclipses  everything  I  have  ever 
seen  in  the  White,  Green,  Catskill  and  Virginia  mountains ;  but 
I  would  not  ascend  it  again  for  all  the  views  from  Maine  to 
Florida,  if  I  had  the  same  experience  to  pass  through,"  said  one, 
whose  black  hair,  eyes,  beard  and  dark  complexion  gave  him  a 
brigand  appearance. 

"No,"  returned  his  pleasant,  fair-iaced  companion,  "You 
know  the  peril  of  your  being  abroad  nights.  Some  one  else, 
less  timid,  might  actually  shoot  you." 

"  Were  you  in  danger  of  being  shot?"   I  asked. 

"Yes;  shot  for  a  highwayman,"  answered  he  of  the  open 
countenance,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"How  so?" 

"Oh!  Hal's  joking  about  the  shooting  business.  I  was 
taken  for  a  robber ;  that's  a  fact ;  but  what  I  mean  by  an  un- 
pleasant experience  was  our  being  lost  on  the  Roan. " 

"I  intend  to  ascend  the  Roan.  Is  the  way  hard  to  find?" 
I  spoke  to  the  dark-visaged  man. 

"It  is  from  the  Tennessee  side.  We  took  that  route,  with 
explicit  directions  how  to  reach  the  hotel  on  the  summit.  It 
was  only  fifteen  miles  distant  from  our  stopping-place,  but  it 


254  In  the  Saddle. 

rained,  and  a  dark  morning  gave  us  a  late  start.  From  Cran- 
berry to  the  foot  of  the  Roan  we  pursued  a  trail  way,  and  a 
tangled  pursuit  it  was.  At  the  base  of  the  mountain  we  wound 
ourselves  up  in  a  net  work  of  log  roads  that,  cut  by  the  lumber- 
men, branched  out  in  every  direction,  crossing  and  recrossing 
each  other  in  the  great  woods.  Extricating  ourselves  from  this, 
we  climbed  the  mountain,  arriving  on  the  ridge  about  sunset. 
Just  before  gaining  the  ridge,  we  met  a  party  of  four  tourists 
on  foot,  whom  we  saluted  and  left  behind.  A  painted  gate  led 
us  astray,  and  we  followed  the  ridge  leading  to  the  Little  Roan. 
We  retraced  our  steps  in  the  rain  and  darkness,  .and  took  shelter 
near  the  delusive  gate  in  an  empty  but  comfortable  cabin, 
erected  evidently  for  lost  wayfarers.  I  went  out  after  we  had 
started  a  fire,  and  found  the  party  of  four  men  seated  on  a  log 
in  the  rain  at  some  distance  from  the  cabin.  I  invited  them 
to  return  with  me,  but  they  declined.  I  said  nothing  more, 
considering  them  non  compos  mentis" 

"A  singular  party.  Did  you  discover  any  reason  for  their 
refusal  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  began  the  one  addressed  as  Hal,  "  Mat's  face,  dress, 
and  figure  frightened  them ;  and,  as  they  told  the  landlord  in 
the  morning,  in  spite  of  their  being  well  armed,  they  preferred 
an  all  night's  roost  in  the  rain  to  falling  into  the  clutches  of  a 
highwayman." 

'•'Well,  that's  so  "  said  Mat,  nodding  his  head  and  smiling; 
'  However,  we  were  lucky  in  finding  the  cabin  before  they  did. 
Had  they  got  there  first,  they  would  have  barred  the  door 
against  us,  and,  perhaps,  warned  us  away  with  a  few  pistol 
shots." 

Our  social  ring  was  at  this  point  broken  up  by  a  party  who 
seemed  too  much  preoccupied  with '  themselves  to  join  us,  and 
so  we  separated  for  the  night.  The  party  in  question  consisted 
of  two  newly  married  couples.  The  knots  had  been  tied  in 


Reynard  and  the  Pheasant.  255 

Morganton,  a  few  days  previous,  and  they  were  then  on  their 
bridal  tour.  They  drove  up  in  the  rain,  unharnessed  and  tied 
their  horses  under  the  dripping  trees  (for  the  stable  was  full), 
and  came  in  upon  us. 

On  the  next  morning,  under  a  clear  sky,  I  wound  my  way 
on  foot  under  the  limbs  of  kalmia  and  rhododendrons  to  the 
Linville  falls.  It  is  a  wild  approach.  Over  the  hedges  tower 
ancient  hemlocks  with  mossed  trunks.  The  blue-jay  screamed 
through  the  forest,  and  around  the  boles  of  the  trees  and  along 
the  branches,  squirrels,  known  as  mountain  boomers,  chased 
each  other,  halting  in  their  scampers  to  look  down  on  the  dis- 
turber of  the  solitude.  Once,  a  brilliant-breasted  pheasant, 
roused  by  my  footsteps,  from  a  bed  of  fern-crested  rocks, 
sprung  in  air  close  before  me,  and  with  a  startled  whirr,  sailed 
up  a  shaded  ravine.  A  sportsman,  with  a  shot-gun,  could  easily 
have  winged  the  bird  in  its  flight,  thereby  securing  a  valuable 
trophy  for  the  taxidermist.  The  cock  pheasant  of  the  moun 
tains  has  not  a  shabby  feather  on  his  body:  They  are  found  in 
many  sections  of  the  mountains,  but  not  in  great  numbers. 
The  hollow  drum-like  sound  caused  by  beating  their  wings 
against  their  bodies,  is  in  most  instances  their  death  tattoo.  At 

o 

its  sound  from  the  neighboring  cove,  the  hunter  takes  down  his 
rifle,  creeps  near  the  favorite  log,  and  generally  makes  a  dead 
shot. 

An  old  mountaineer,  famous  as  a  narrator  of  bear  and  fish 
stories,  was  particularly  fond  of  telling  one  relating  to  pheasant 
shooting.  One  autumn  day,  having  already  marked  the  forest 
locality  from  which'  the  drum  of  a  pheasant  resounded  every 
morning,  he  crept  near  with  his  rifle.  The  bird  had  just  jumped 
in  place  and  was  drumming  within  his  sight.  He  took  deliber 
ate  aim  and  fired.  On  running  to  the  log  he  discovered  a  red 
fox  struggling  in  his  death  throes  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
log,  and  in  his  mouth  a  dead  pheasant.  Reynard,  as  the 


256  ///  the  Saddle. 

mountaineer  explained,  marking  the  frequented  log,  had 
secreted  himself  close  beside  it,  and,  while  the  mountaineer  was 
aiming,  was  preparing  to  seize  the  bird,  and  did  so  at  the  mo- 
ment the  trigger  was  pulled. 

The  heavy  thunder  of  the  falls  swept  through  the  forest, 
increasing  as  I  advanced.  The  path  diverged  at  one  point, 
and,  taking  the  right  hand  trail,  by  means  of  the  roots  of  the 
laurel,  I  descended  a  cliff's  face  in  cool,  dismal  shade.  At  the 
bottom,  I  came  out  on  a  black  ledge  of  rock,  close  to  the  river. 
A  stupendous  fall  was  before  ;  stern  walls  of  a  rocky  canon, 
100  feet  high,  around  me,  and  a  blue  sky  smiling  above.  I 
climbed  a  stair-way  of  moist  rocks,  and  walked  along  the  path 
on  the  cliff's  front  to  a  point  directly  before  the  fall's  face.  The 
great  volume  of  the  Linville  river,  formed  from  drainage  for 
fifteen  miles  back  to  the  water-shed  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  here  at 
the  gap  between  Jonas'  Ridge  and  the  Linville  mountains,  has 
cut  asunder  a  massive  wall,  leaving  high  perpendicular  cliffs 
towering  over  its  surface,  and  then,  with  a  tremendous  leap, 
pours  it  current  down  through  space,  fifty  feet,  into  the  bottom 
of  the  canon.  It  seems  to  burst  from  a  dark  cavern  in  the 
mountain's  center.  A  pool,  sixty  feet  across,  looking  like  the 
surface  of  a  lake  with  dark  waves  white-capped,  spreads  in  a 
circle  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs.  After  recovering  from  the  diz- 
ziness of  its  plunge,  the  river,  leaving  the  piny  walls  on  either 
side,  rushes  along  in  view  for  a  short  distance,  and  then  disap- 
pears around  the  corner  of  a  green  promontory. 

If  one,  in  retracing  one's  steps,  takes  the  left  hand  trail  at  the 
point  of  divergence,  and  follows  it  to  the  edge  of  the  cliffs,  a 
magnificent  downward  view  will  be  obtained,  both  of  the  foot 
of  the  cataract,  and  above,  where  its  waters  race  in  serpentine 
course,  increased  in  velocity  by  the  plunges  over  smaller  falls 
only  a  few  yards  up  the  gorge. 

A  wilder  solitude,   a   more   picturesque  confusion   of  crags, 


A  Lonely  Ride.  257 

waters,  woods,  and  mountain  heights,  can  scarcely  be  found. 
But  even  here,  man  once  fitted  for  himself  a  dwelling-place ; 
for  plainly  visible  across  the  tops  of  the  trees,  was  a  little 
cabin  on  a  small,  sloping  clearing.  No  smoke  curled  upward 
from  its  weather-worn  roof;  its  doors  had  been  torn  away  and 
chimney  leveled.  A  few  cows  pastured  before  it. 

After  dinner  I  left  Franklin's  to  ride  over  a  good  road  up  the 
Linville  river.  The  afternoon  passed  without  any  occurrences 
or  scenes  of  marked  interest,  and  the  sun  was  slowly  sinking 
toward  a  mountain-rimmed  horizon  when,  making  a  last  inquiry 
in  regard  to  my  route,  I  entered  a  wilderness,  unbroken  by 
human  habitation  for  nearly  five  miles.  It  was  a  great,  green- 
lined  way.  Linns,  birches,  and  hemlocks  met  over-head,  ren- 
dering dark  the  shadows.  Under  this  forest,  grow  in  richest 
luxuriance  dark  hedges  of  rhododendron,  too  dense  for  easy 
penetration,  and  reaching  up  to  the  lower  branches  of  the  trees. 
It  was  late  in  season  for  their  flowers,  still  many  of  them  were 
white  and  purple  with  bloom.  So  deep  and  luxuriant  was  the 
foliage  of  the  forest  and  its  undergrowth,  and  so  cold  the  waters 
of  the  stream  that  crossed  and  recrossed  or  occupied  the  road- 
bed itself,  that  the  air  was  chilly  at  the  hour  in  which  I  rode, 
and  must  be  so  even  at  noon-day. 

The  shade  continued  to  deepen,  and  the  chilliness  of  the  air 
increased  ;  still,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  great  distance  I  had 
covered,  no  house  presented  itself,  and  in  only  one  place  did 
the  branches  of  the  trees  separate  themselves1  sufficiently  to  see 
out.  Then,  far  beyond,  I  saw  the  black  summit  of  the  Grand- 
father. That  was  all.  The  waters  of  the  stream  are  of  a  rich, 
Rhine-wine  color.  At  one  point  that  day,  I  noticed,  attached 
to  a  fence  above  the  stream,  a  board  bearing  the  words,  "No 
fishing  allowed  on  this  land."  This  is  the  only  posted  warning 
against  angling  that  I  have  seen,  or  know  of,  in  the  mountains. 

In   that   twilight  hour  the   stream    seemed  to   sing  a  doleful 


258  ///  the  Saddle. 

refrain  over  the  smooth  boulders  and  gnarled  ivy  roots.  An 
owl  hooted  from  its  hidden  perch  in  a  mossed  pine  ;  and  a  scared 
rabbit,  interrupted  in  its  evening  meal  on  an  apple  dropped  by 
some  lonely  wayfarer,  fled  across  the  road,  and  disappeared  in 
the  gloom  of  the  thickets.  A  more  dismal  woodland  for  a  twi- 
light ride  could  not  well  be  imagined  in  the  possibilities  of 
nature.  It  would  naturally  be  more  dismal  to  the  unfamiliar 
traveler,  tired  with  a  long  day's  ride,  and  despairing  of  reach- 
ing a  farm-house  before  the  approach  of  a  cloudy  night. 

Suddenly  the  forest  on  one  side  opened,  and  a  clearing  of 
dead,  girdled  trees,  with  brush  fires  blazing  here  and  there 
among  the  white,  standing  trunks,  lay  before  me.  Further  on 
was  a  meadow  and  a  small  house,  from  whose  chimney  a  wreath 
of  smoke  was  ascending  straight  to  the  zenith.  Over  the  house 
and  farm  loomed  the  rock-crowned  summit  of  the  Peak  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  An  unshapely  ledge  cropped  from  the  mountain's 
top. 

I  was  now  on  the  summit  of  one  of  the  gaps  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  at  an  elevation  of  4, 100  feet.  On  one  side  down  a 
gradual  descent  through  the  wilderness  described,  flow  the 
waters  of  the  Linville  on  the  way  to  the  Atlantic  ;  on  the 
other,  close  on  the  dividing  line,  wells  up  the  spring  forming 
the  Watauga,  whose  waters  mingle  with  the  Mississippi.  A 
short  mile  below  this  point,  down  the  Watauga  side,  is  Gallo- 
way's, at  the  foot  of  the  Grandfather,  as  the  sign-board  directly 
before  the  gate  will  tell  the  man  who  stops  to  read  it.  In  the 
dusk,  I  dismounted  here,  tossed  my  horse's  bridle  to  a  bare- 
footed boy,  and  then  lugged  my  saddle-bags  to  the  porch  before 
the  unpainted  front  of  a  new  addition  on  an  old  house.  I  was 
wrell  received  and  seated. 

Beside  the  road,  before  the  house,  was  presented  that  even- 
ing a  scene  that  merits  description.  It  was  the  camp  of  a  fam- 
ily who,  having  abandoned  one  home,  was  seeking  another.  An 


A  House  on  Wheels.  259 

open  fire  blazed  on  the  ground.  Its  light  shone  on  a  white 
covered,  rickety  wagon,  at  whose  rear  end  were  feeding,  out  of 
a  box  strapped  there,  a  mule  and  a  horse.  The  mule  was  all 
ears ;  the  horse  all  ribs,  backbone,  and  neck,  plainly  appearing 
through  a  drum-tight  hide.  Around  the  fire  was  a  squalid 
group  consisting  of  a  man,  woman,  and  four  small  boys.  The 
man  and  boys  were  barefooted,  and  wore  nothing  but  hats, 
breeches,  and  shirts.  The  woman  had  on  a  tattered  gown,  and 
had  her  pinched  features  concealed  within  a  dark  bonnet.  At 
that  moment  they  were  drinking  coffee  in  turns  from  a  single 
tin  cup,  and  eating  corn  bread.  The  pinched  features,  strag- 
gling hair,  and  sallow,  almost  beardless  face  of  the  man,  made 
his  a  visage  of  stolid  apathy.  At  intervals,  a  gust,  sweeping 
down  the  narrow  valley,  would  lay  low  the  flames  and  whirl 
the  smoke  in  a  circle,  enveloping  the  group,  and  awakening 
a  loud  coughing  from  the  woman.  My  supper  was  not  ready 
until  after  I  had  seen  the  last  one  of  the  family  crawl  after  the 
others  into  the  wagon  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  I  went  out  to  talk  with  them  as  they  ate 
breakfast. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Tenesy, "  answered  the  man,  giving  the  accent  on  the  first 
syllable,  a  pronunciation  peculiar  to  the  uneducated  natives. 

"  How  do  you  come  to  be  here?" 

"Movin'.  Got  ejected  in  Tenesy,  an'  we're  now  huntin'  a 
new  place. " 

-Where?" 

"  Dunno.  We  reckon  on  squattin'  somewhar  in  the  Blue 
Ridge." 

"Will  you  buy  or  rent  the  property?" 

"Buy?"  answered  he,  with  an  expression  of  astonishment 
on  his  face;  "What  do  you  reckon  I'd  buy  with,  stranger?  I 
ain't  got  a  copper,  an'  thet  mule,  hoss,  wagin,  an'  hay  an'  corn 


260  In  tJic  Saddle. 

in  hit,  an'  them  harnesses,  could'nt  be  swapped  fer  much  land, 
I^reckon.  All  I've  got?  Yes,  'cept  the  ole  woman  an'  them 
boys.  I'll  jist  put  up  a  cabin  somewhars  in  the  woods,  plant  a 
crap,  an'  stick  thar  till  they  done  driv  me  out." 

After  this  reply,  he  leaned  forward  and  poured  out  another 
cup  of  coffee  for  himself  and  family,  as  I  slowly  turned  and 
walked  away.  No  more  poverty-stricken  families  can  be  found 
than  some  of  these  occasionally  seen  moving  through  the 
mountains.  This  one  had  property  in  a  team  and  wagon,  but 
I  have  met  them  traveling  on  foot  and  carrying  their  sole  pos- 
sessions. 

A  family  of  the  latter  description  I  came  across  near  the 
Ocona  Lufta  in  Swain  county.  It  was  a  warm  May  day,  and 
the  road  was  dry  and  dusty.  I  was  on  foot  with  a  companion 
from  the  Richland  valley.  .On  descending  a  short  hill  to  a 
small  stream  gliding  out  from  under  a  clump  of  wayside  willows, 
we  met  the  party.  There  were  eight  of  them,  as  destitute, 
ragged,  forlorn,  and  withal  as  healthy  a  family  as  I  ever  saw. 
The  father  and  husband  was  fully  70  years  of  age.  His  long 
gray  hair,  although  unkempt ;  his  wrinkled  face,  and  mild  blue 
eyes,  had  something  in  all  to  arouse  reverence  and  pity  in  the 
most  thoughtless  of  mankind.  He  was  dressed  in  an  unbleached 
musiin  shirt,  much  the  worse  for  wear  ;  a  pair  of  pantaloons  so 
completely  covered  with  patches  that  it  would  have  taken  an 
artisan  tailor  to  distinguish  the  original  ground-work  ;  a  pair  of 
cloth  suspenders,  and  a  battered  hat.  He  was  bare-footed,  and 
carried  on  his  shoulders  half  a  bushel  of  corn.  The  wife  and 
mother  was  much  younger.  Her  face  was  stolid  enough  to  be 
utterly  indifferent  to  their  condition.  She  had  on  the  least  pos- 
sible quantity  of  clothes  to  cover  her  form,  and  a  calico  bonnet 
on  her  head.  Under  her  arm  was  a  bundle  of  spring  onions, 
probably  gathered  from  some  convenient  yard  near  which  they 
had  encamped  in  true  gypsy  fashion.  The  eldest  daughter,  a 


The  Patriarch  of  Mountains.  261 

grown  woman,  was  no  better  attired  than  her  mother.  *  She 
had  in  her  possession  a  roll  of  tattered  blankets.  The  five 
remaining,  frowzy  children,  barefooted  and  ragged  like  their  sire, 
had  in  their  respective  keepings,  a  coffee-pot,  two  or  three 
gourds  and  an  iron  kettle.  This  was  the  whole  family  with  a 
full  inventory  of  their  worldly  possessions.  They  said  that  they 
were  moving  back  to  Tennessee  ;  that  they  had  been  burnt  out; 
that  the  head  of  the  family  could  not  earn  more  than  20  cents 
per  day;  that  it  was  "split  the  Smoky  mountings  or  bust." 
We  were  under  the  impression  that  the  20  cents  per  day 
included  the  board  for  the  family.  We  gave  them  some  small 
change  and  tobacco  and  then  separated. 

The  Grandfather  mountain,  in  the  extreme  southern  corner  of 
Watauga  county,  is  the  highest  point  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  The 
elevation  is  5.897  feet,  and  being  35  miles  in  an  air-line  distant 
from  the  loftier  summits  of  the  Black  mountains,  and  fifteen 
miles  from  the  Roan,  over-topping  as  it  does  all  the  nearer 
peaks  by  an  altitude  of  nearly  1,000  feet,  it  commands  an  almost 
limitless  view  of  mountain  country.  It  merits  the  name  of 
Grandfather,  for  its  rocks  are  of  the  .Archaean  age,  and  the 
oldest  out-croppings  on  the  globe.  Two  other  reasons  for  its 
name  are  ascribed ;  one  from  the  profile  of  a  man's  face  seen 
from  the  Watauga  river ;  the  other  from  the  resemblance  of  the 
rhododendrons,  when  clad  in  ice  and  snow,  to  the  white,  flow- 
ing beard  of  a  patriarch. 

Differing  from  all  the  mountains  of  the  South,  dense  laby- 
rinths of  rhododendrons  and  pines  begin  at  its  base.  The 
traveler  enters  their  shadows  by  the  road-side,  and  for  two  and 
a  half  miles,  the  distance  from  Galloway's  to  the  summit,  they 
are  continually  with  him.  Although  the  first  two  miles  are 
often  accomplished  on  horseback,  it  is  too  steep  for  easy  riding. 
The  path  winds  like  the  trail  of  a  serpent,  brushing  by  the 
bases  of  low,  vine-draped  cliffs,  around  yellow  hemlocks,  and 


262  In  the  Saddle. 

disappearing  in  the  rocky  channel  of  a  torrent,  or  into  hedges 
of  rhododendrons. 

On  the  morning  that  I  made  the  ascent,  I  was  impressed  with 
the  noticeable  absence  of  birds.  Not  a  note  from  a  feathered 
songster  resounded  through  the  forest.  No  life  was  visible  or 
audible,  except  occasionally  on  the  cliffs,  quick-eyed  lizards,  of 
the  color  of  the  rocks,  appeared  and  then  disappeared  in  the 
mossed  crevices  of  the  stone. 

One-half  mile  from  the  summit,  under  a  tall,  dark  cliff 
whose  cold  face  seems  never  to  have  been  kissed  by  sunlight, 
bubbles  a  large  spring.  Its  water  is  of  a  temperature  less  than 
eight  degrees  above  the  freezing  point.  This,  as  far  as  is 
known,  is  the  coldest  spring  south  of  New  York  state.  Here 
the  steepest  part  of  the  ascent  begins.  At  intervals  old  logs 
are  piled  across  the  narrow  trail,  and  in  places  rocks  have  set 
themselves  on  edge.  Grasses  grow  rankly  with  weeds  and  ferns. 
These,  covered  with  the  moisture  of  the  clouds  that  had  drop- 
ped with  the  night  about  the  forehead  of  the  Grandfather,  and 
only  lifted  with  daylight,  wet  the  person  pushing  through  them 
as  thoroughly  as  if  he  had  fallen  in  the  torrent. 

The  summit  of  the  mountain  is  a  narrow7,  ragged  ridge, 
covered  with  balsams.  If  these  trees  were  cleared  from  the 
central  pinnacle,  a  sweeping  view  toward  every  point  of  the 
compass  could  be  obtained,  without  change  of  position.  As  it 
is,  they  obstruct  the  vision,  and  to  see  out  on  every  side  it 
is  necessary  to  move  to  three  points,  all  close  together,  known 
as  the  Watauga,  Caldwell,  and  Burke  views. 

Let  the  reader  imagine  himself  stationed  at  one  of  these 
views.  Mantling  the  steep  declivities  are  the  wildernesses  of 
black  balsams.  A  cool  breeze  swings  and  beats  their  branches 
together.  The  sun  rides  in  an  atmosphere  so  clear  that  there 
seems  no  limit  to  vision.  A  precipice  breaks  away  from  your 
feet,  but  you  do  not  notice  where  it  ends ;  for  at  the  attempted 


The  " Meetin   House"  263 

downward  look,  the  mountains  below,  like  the  billows  of  a 
stormy  ocean  stilled  in  their  rolling  by  some  mighty  hand,  crowd 
upon  the  vision.  They  have  all  the  colors  of  the  ocean,  wave 
beyond  wave,  surge  beyond  surge,  till  they  blend  in  with  the 
sky,  or  hide  their  most  distant  outlines  in  the  cumuli  bounding 
the  horizon.  You  fancy  hearing  the  sound  of  breakers,  and 
look  directly  below  as  though  seeking  for  the  reason  of  no 
roar  arising  from  the  waves  lying  at  the  base  of  the  headland. 
Then  the  dream  of  the  sea  vanishes.  There  lie  the  forests, 
dwarfed  but  real,  dark  green,  covering  the  unsightly  rocks  and 
ending  at  brown  clearings,  in  whose  centers  appear  farm-houses, 
the  almost  invisible  fences  running  wild  over  the  hills,  the  yel- 
low road  revealed  at  intervals,  and  the  silver  threads  of  streams. 
It  was  on  a  beautiful  Sunday  morning  that  I  left  Galloway's 
and  rode  down  the  western  slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  A  quiet, 
seemingly  more  hallowed  than  that  of  other  days,  was  brood- 
ing over  the  valley  through  which,  beside  the  Watauga,  the  road 
descended.  The  fields  and  meadows  were  vacant ;  and  the 
mountaineers,  observant  of  the  Sabbath,  were  all  within  their 
homely  dwellings,  or  assembled  at  the  meeting-house  of 
the  neighborhood.  This  place  of  prayer  is  a  plain,  unpainted, 
frame  building,  enclosed  by  a  rail  fence,  beside  the  road.  Just 
before  reaching  it  your  horse  must  splash  through  a  roaring, 
crystal  ford  of  the  Watauga.  When  I  passed  it  that  morning, 
services  had  already  begun,  and  the  sounds  of  a  hymn,  sung  by 
all  the  congregation,  in  strong,  melodious  chorus,  came  wafted 
through  the  trees.  A  long  line  of  saddled  horses  and  mules 
were  ranged  along  the  fence,  or  tied  to  the  rhododendron  hedges 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  The  house  seemed  packed ; 
for  many  of  the  men  were  standing  bare-headed  in  the  sunlight 
before  the  crowded  door,  and  a  number  of  young  folks  were 
gathered  in  groups  about  the  yard,  the  latter  more  intent 
on  their  own  conversation  than  on  what  was  doing  indoors. 


264  In  tJie  Saddle. 

Some  of  them  nodded  to  me  as  I  passed.  This  manner  of 
the  mountaineers  saluting  every  one,  friend  or  stranger,  is 
a  pleasant  one,  and  prevents,  in  the  traveler,  "all  feelings  of 
loneliness  arising  from  his  being  in  a  strange  country. 

At  one  point  on  the  road,  the  further  rocky  end  of  the 
Grandfather  mountain  presents  the  distinct  features  of  a  face. 
You  can  see  it  looking  out  from  its  head-dress  of  firs,  like  a 
demi-god,  holding  eternal  watch  over  the  myriad  mountains  and 
valleys. 

The  vicinity  of  Blowing  Rock  is  a  summer  resort.  It  is  a 
lofty  plateau  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  covered  with  dense  forests, 
level  farms,  and  crossed  by  smooth  highways.  Good  country 
accommodations  are  offered  here  for  the  tourist.  From  the 
edge  of  the  mountain  wall,  which  overhangs  Caldwell  county, 
two  points — Blowing  Rock  and  Fairview — afford  admirable 
stands,  for  overlooking  the  piedmont  country.  The  views  are 
similar  in  character.  From  Fairview  the  valley  of  the  John's 
river,  embosomed  in  green  mountains,  lies  in  the  low  fore- 
ground ;  while  rolling  back,  spread  ranges,  picturesque  in  out- 
line and  purple  coloring.  In  the  morning  or  evening,  when  the 
sunlight  is  thrown  aslant  across  them,  bathing  the  fronting 
slopes  in  fire,  and  leaving,  under  the  opposite  brows,  gloomy 
shadows,  so  long  drawn  out  that  many  of  the  valleys  are  as 
dark  as  they  are  silent,  the  scene  is  such  that  one  can  never 
tire  of  viewing  it,  or  ever  lose  the  impressions  that  even  one 
sight  of  it  will  awaken. 

A  ride  of  eight  miles  from  the  center  of  the  plateau  resort, 
will  bring  the  traveler  to  Boone,  the  county  seat  of  Watauga. 
Along  the  way  several  sweeping  landscape  prospects  are  af 
forded.  In  one  of  the  dense  woods  I  passed  men  engaged  in 
clearing  a  laurel  thicket.  The  soil  where  the  laurel  springs 
being  generally  rich,  it  requires,  after  its  clearing,  nothing  but  a 
slight  plowing,  and  enough  corn  for  planting,  to  have  the  ex- 


WATAUGA    FALLS. 


A  County-Seat  Above  the  Cloiids.  267 

panse,  which,  during  the  last  season,  was  blooming  with  white 
and  purple  rhododendron  flowers,  transformed  into  a  green  and 
tasseled  corn-field. 

Boone,  the  most  elevated  county  seat  east  of  the  Rocky 
mountains,  is  3,222  feet  above  the  sea.  Its  population  num- 
bers about  200,  and  lives  along  a  street  rising  and  falling  with 
the  hills.  Due  to  the  fact  of  no  majestic  mountains  arising 
round  it,  there  is,  in  its  surroundings,  less  of  the  attractive 
features  that  distinguish  the  most  of  the  mountain  county  seats. 
Near  the  stream  which  flows  on  one  side  of  the  town,  Daniel 
Boone,  the  famous  hunter,  is  said  to  have  encamped  while  on  a 
hunting  tour.  It  is  from  this  tradition  of  the  camp  that  the  vil- 
lage took  its  name. 

An  afternoon  ride  from  Boone  will  land  the  traveler  at  Elk 
river.  The  scenery  on  the  route  is  picturesque.  In  the  valleys 
they  were  raking  hay  that  August  day.  One  valley  in  particu- 
lar, by  the  Watauga,  is  of  captivating  loveliness.  The  moun- 
tains rise  around  it,  as  though  placed  there  with  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  protect  its  jewel-like  expanse  from  rough  incur- 
sions of  storm.  It  lay  smooth  and  level  under  the  warm  sun- 
light. Nothing  but  grass  and  clover  covered  it — in  some  fields 
wholly  standing,  in  others  being  laid  low  by  the  reapers,  It  is 
evidently  a  stock  farm  ;  for  large  droves  of  sleek,  fat  cattle  were 
grazing  in  some  of  the  meadows.  A  cheerful  farm-house 
and  large  out-buildings  stand  on  one  side  of  the  road.  The 
noise  of  a  spinning  wheel,  coming  from  the  sunlight-flooded 
porch  where  a  gray-haired  matron  was  visible,  blended  with  the 
sounds  from  the  fields — the  lowing  of  cattle,  the  noise  of 
sharpening  scythes,  and  laughter  from  rosy-cheeked  girls  and 
men,  who,  pausing  in  their  work,  looked  for  a  moment  at  the 
travel-worn  horse  and  rider.  This  valley  I  would  love  to  live 
in. 

As   a  county  perfectly  adapted    for    stock-raising,  Watauga 


268  In  the  Saddle. 

cannot  be  surpassed.  One  and  three-quarters  miles  off  the  road 
you  are  now  pursuing,  is  the  Marianna  falls  of  the  Little  Dutch 
creek.  It  is  easily  approached  by  the  foot-traveler.  After 
reaching  the  stream  from  above,  by  descending  a  winding  trail 
you  come  out  on  the  flat  rocks  directly  below  and  before  the 
fall.  It  is  eighty-five  feet  high  and  makes  a  perpendicular 
descent  over  mossed  and  lichened  rocks. 

Valle  Crucis  lies  on  the  left  of  the  way  that  winds  under  the 
trees  along  the  base  of  one  of  its  mountain  limits.  It  is  a  valley 
containing  probably  600  acres,  and  noted  for  its  beauty.  The 
name  is  taken  from  its  imaginary  resemblance  to  a  cross.  The 
length  of  the  valley,  running  between  the  rounded  parallel 
ranges,  is  compared  to  the  upright  piece  of  the  cross,  and  the 
openings  between  these  ranges  on  either  side  where  green  levels 
reach  back,  to  the  arms.  From  the  best  point  of  observation 
which  I  gained,  it  seemed  a  perfect  square — a  vivid  green  lake, 
fringed  with  the  rich  foliage  of  the  forests  which  decked  the 
slopes  of  the  bordering  mountains. 

A  little  religious  history  is  connected  with  this  Valley  of  the 
Cross.  On  one  spot  in  it  there  are  still  to  be  seen  amid  weeds 
and  luxuriant  grasses  the  scattered  ruins  of  a  building.  They  are 
all  the  remaining  evidences  of  a  mission  school,  founded  many 
years  since  by  the  Episcopal  Church  of  the  state.  It  was  under 
the  particular  supervision  of  Bishop  Levi  S.  Ives  ;  and  it  was 
here  that,  30  years  ago,  he  openly  renounced  loyalty  to  his 
church  and  went  over  to  the  Roman  Catholic  faith.  With  this 
singular  apostacy,  work  at  the  mission  school  closed,  and  the 
building  gradually  assumed  its  present  proportions. 

Over  lonely  mountains  the  road  now  leads  to  Elk  river.  I 
rode  for  mile  after  mile  that  evening  without  seeing  a  cabin 
or  farm-house.  The  scenery  along  the  Elk  has  something 
decidedly  romantic  in  its  features.  On  one  hand  would  be 
perched  a  moss-grown  cottage  on  the  mountain  slope,  with  a 


Down  the  Noisy  Elk.  269 

few  giant  hemlocks,  allowed  to  stand  at  the  time  of  the  general 
clearing,  overshadowing  it.  Below,  on  the  other  hand,  would  lie 
fertile  fields,  watered  by  the  noisy  Elk,  and  enclosed  on  three 
sides  by  the  dark  and  sober  forests  of  the  hemlock.  The  seren- 
ity of  the  evening  was  not  disturbed  by  the  farewell  whistling 
of  the  quails;  the  rattling  of  the  bells  from  the  cows  coming 
homeward  across  the  pastures  ;  the  barking  of  a  dog  behind  the 
barnyard  fence,  and  the  opening  cry  of  the  whip-poor-will. 

The  moon  had  turned  from  silver  to  gold ;  the  stream  under 
the  spruces  was  sparkling  where  no  shadows  fell  athwart  its  sur- 
face, and  a  cold,  evening  breeze,  the  usual  companion  of  night 
over  the  mountains,  was  rustling  the  black  foliage  of  the  trees, 
when  I  dismounted  at  a  hospitable  farm-house  on  the  Elk, 
where  I  had  a  wholesome  supper  ;  shared  a  bed  with  the  farmer's 
son,  a  graduate  of  the  North  Carolina  University;  had  an  early 
breakfast,  and  before  sunrise,  mounting  my  horse,  I  was  on  the 
way  toward  the  foot  of  the  Roan.  An  old  forge,  where  the  iron 
taken  from  the  mountain  near  by  was  smelted,  stands  by  the 
road.  It  was  abandoned  a  few  years  since.  The  Cranberry 
mines  are  a  mile  off  the  main  road.  They  are  in  Humpback 
mountain,  Mitchell  county,  North  Carolina,  and  included  in  a 
tract  of  4,000  acres,  owned  by  the  Cranberry  Iron  &  Coal  Com- 
pany of  Philadelphia,  of  which  A.  Pardee  is  president.  Mines 
have  been  worked  in  this  mountain  for  the  last  half-century. 
They  are  now  being  operated  on  a  large  scale.  The  narrow- 
guage  railway,  an  off-shoot  of  the  E.  T. ,  V.  &  G.  R.  R.,  runs  to 
the  tunnel ;  and  the  raw  ore  is  transferred  by  rail  to  furnaces  in 
the  North.  The  tunnel  to  the  ore  bank  is  run  in  on  a  level 
from  the  railroad,  to  a  depth  of  325  feet.  Both  steam,  and 
hand  drills  are  being  worked.  The  vein  now  struck  appears 
inexhaustible.  It  was  discovered  half  a  mile  above  on  the 
mountain  side,  and  then  the  lower  tunnel  was  projected  in  to  it. 


2/O  In  the  Saddle. 

The  company's  saw-mill  is  in  active  operation  near  by.      A  town 
will  soon  be  in  existence  here. 

From  the  Tennessee  side  the  ascent  of  the  Roan  is  arduous, 
and  if  one  has  not  taken  precaution  to  secure  explicit  directions, 
he  may  be  obliged  to  sleep  out  all  night  in  the  gloomy  woods, 
in  this  regard  being  more  unfortunate  than  the  two  travelers 
whom  I  met  on  the  Linville.  Profiting  through  their  misfor- 
tune, I  learned  every  crook  of  the  way,  and  with  only  the 
steepness  of  the  ascent  to  discomfit  me,  arrived  at  sunset  on 
the  summit  of  that  majestic  mountain.  The  scene  below,  in 
every  direction,  except  where  the  Little  Roan  uplifts  its  gray 
dome,  was  one  tumultuous  mountain  ocean,  rolling  with  rough 
and  smooth  swells  alternately  toward  the  ragged  horizon : 

•  'And  half  the  sky 

Was  roofed  with  clouds  of  rich  emblazonry, 
Dark  purple  at  the  zenith,  which  still  grew 
Down  the  steep  west  into  a  wondrous  hue, 
Brighter  than  burning  gold,  even  to  the  rent, 
Where  the  swift  sun  yet  paused  in  his  descent 
Among  the  many-folded  hills." 

One  hundred  and  twelve  feet  below  the  extreme  top  of  Roan 
mountain  is  situated  Cloudland  Hotel,  over  6,200  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  the  highest  habitation  east  of  the  Rockies.  There 
is  enough  novelty  in  the  situation  of  a  summer  resort  at  so 
lofty  an  altitude  to  captivate  the  tourist,  even  were  there  no 
attractions  of  sky,  climate,  scenery,  or  the  aspect  of  the  moun- 
tain top  itself.  It  is  a  beautiful,  rounded  meadow,  where  -the 
rocks,  which  one  would  naturally  expect  to  see  exposed,  are 
hidden  under  a  soil  clad  with  luxuriant  grasses,  mountain 
heather,  and  clumps  of  rhododendrons,  and  azaleas.  Sombre 
forests  of  balsam  stretch  like  natural  fences  around  the  edges 
of  the  treeless  expanse,  which,  for  over  two  miles,  pursues  the 
center  ridge  of  the  mountain.  At  one  end  of  the  Roan,  naked 
granite  cliffs  descend  into  soundless  gorges,  and  the  sublimity 
of  the  view  from  the  brow  of  the  precipice  is  indescribable. 


The  Hermit  of  Grier  s  Bald.  271 

The  mountain  brooks  teem  with  speckled  trout,  and  a  series  of 
beautiful  cascades  on  one  wild  slope  will  attract  the  lover  of 
nature.  From  June  until  October  the  air  is  balmy  and  bracing, 
the  temperature  ranging  during  the  summer  from  58°  to  73°. 

The  regular  route  to  Cloudland  is  over  a  turnpike  from  John- 
son City,  a  station  on  the  East  Tennessee,  Virginia,  &  Geor- 
gia railroad.  A  line  of  comfortable,  covered  stages  make  the 
trip  of  thirty-two  miles  every  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Fri- 
day. For  travelers  coming  from  Eastern  North  Carolina  and 
beyond,  conveyances  can  be  obtained  at  Marion,  on  the  West- 
ern North  Carolina  railroad;  distant  45  miles. 

The  slopes  of  this  mountain'  are  covered  by  vast  tracts  of 
cherry  and  other  hard-wood  trees.  Its  timbered  wealth  is 
incalculable.  Saw-mills  have  lately  sprung  into  place,  and  the 
bases  and  gentle  uplands  are  now  crossed  with  fresh  roads  and 
dotted  with  loggers'  camps.  General  Wilder,  of  Chattanooga, 
the  owner  of  Cloudland  Hotel  and  of  most  of  the  mountain, 
is  the  principal  operator  in  this  line. 

As  related  by  General  J.  W.  Bowman,  one  of  the  first  citi- 
zens of  Mitchell  county  and  descendant  of  a  Revolutionary 
patriot,  the  summit  of  the  Roan  was  the  rendezvous  for  the 
mountain  men  of  the  Washington  district  and  Watauga  settle- 
ment, assembling  for  the  march  ending  in  the  battle  of  King's 
mountain. 

In  Yancey  county,  visible  from  the  Roan,  and  forty-five  miles 
from  Asheville,  is  a  peak  known  as  Grier's  Bald,  named  in 
memory  of  David  Grier,  a  hermit,  who  lived  upon  it  for  thirty- 
two  years.  From  posthumous  papers  of  Silas  McDowell,  we 
learn  the  following  facts  of  the  hermit's  singular  history.  A 
native  of  South  Carolina,  he  came  into  the  mountains  in  1798, 
and  made  his  home  with  Colonel  David  Vance,  whose  daughter 
he  fell  in  love  with.  Plis  suit  was  not  encouraged;  the  young 
lady  was  married  to  another,  and  Grier,  with  mind  evidently 


272  In  the  Saddle. 

crazed,  plunged  into  the  wilderness.  This  was  in  1802.  On 
reaching  the  bald  summit  of  the  peak  which  bears  his  name,  he 
determined  to  erect  a  permanent  lodge  in  one  of  the  coves. 
He  built  a  log  house  and  cleared  a  tract  of  nine  acres,  subsist- 
ing in  the  meantime  by  hunting  and  on  a  portion  of  the  $250 
paid  him  by  Colonel  Vance  for  his  late  services.  He  \vas 
twenty  miles  from  a  habitation.  For  years  he  lived  undis- 
turbed ;  then  settlers  began  to  encroach  on  his  wild  domains. 
In  a  quarrel  about  some  of  his  real  or  imaginary  landed  rights, 
he  killed  a  man  named  Holland  Higgins.  At  the  trial  he  was 
cleared  on  the  ground  of  insanity,  and  returned  home  to  meet 
his  death  at  the  hands  of  one  of  Holland's  friends.  Grier  was 
a  man  of  strong  mind  and  fair  education.  After  killing  Hig- 
gins, he  published  a  pamphlet  in  justification  of  his  act,  and 
sold  it  on  the  streets.  He  left  papers  of  interest,  containing 
his  life's  record  and  views  of  life  in  general,  showing  that  he 
was  a  deist,  and  a  believer  in  the  right  of  every  man  to  take 
the  executive  power  of  the  law  into  his  own  hands. 

While  I  was  at  the  hotel  a  terrific  thunder  storm  visited— 
not  the  summit  of  the  Roan — but  the  valleys  below  it.  It  came 
after  dark,  and  from  the  porch  we  looked  out  and  down  upon 
the  world  in  which  it  raged.  Every  flash  of  lightning  was  a 
revelation  of  glory,  disclosing  a  sea  of  clouds  of  immaculate 
whiteness — a  boundless  archipelago  whose  islands  were  the 
black  peaks  of  the  mountains.  Not  a  valley  could  be  seen  ; 
nothing  but  the  snowy  bosom  of  this  cloud  ocean,  and  the 
stately  summits  which  had  lifted  themselves  above  its  vapors. 
In  the  height  of  the  storm,  the  lightning  blazed  in  one  inces- 
sant sheet,  and  the  thunder  came  rolling  up  through  the  black 
awful  edge  of  the  balsams,  producing  somewhat  similar  sensa- 
tions to  those  which  fill  the  breast  of  a  superstitious  savage  at 
the  recurrence  of  an  every-day  storm  above  him.. 

When  I  descended  the  mountains  on  the  following  afternoon, 


Bakersville  and  its  Vicinity.  273 

the  ravages  of  the  storm  were  visible  on  several  splintered  oak 
trees,  which  lay  prone  across  some  of  the  wayside  clearings ; 
and  Big  Rock  creek  was  high  and  still  roaring,  with  its  excess 
of  water. 

At  sight  of  the  rocky  fords  of  this  stream,  the  traveler  would 
naturally  form  the  opinion  that  it  flows  through  wild,  rugged 
scenery,  in  a  country  devoid  of  clearings.  There  is,  however, 
fine  farming  land,  cleared  and  occupied,  along  Big  Rock  creek. 
One  portion  of  it,  in  particular,  of  soil  rich  and  fertile,  is  set- 
tled by  a  prosperous  and  hard-working  class  of  people,  who, 
during  the  late  war,  sided  with  the  North.  It  is  now  said  that 
they  will  allow  none,  except  white  men,  to  stay,  either  per- 
manently or  as  day  laborers,  in  their  community.  The  reason 
given  is  that  they  fought  to  liberate  the  negro  from  bondage, 
and,  having  thus  helped  him,  they  wish  to  be  free  from  all  con- 
tact with  him.  The  same  feeling  prevails  in  other  isolated  lo- 
calities through  the  mountains,  one  being  on  the  Little  Tennes- 
see, in  the  region  of  its  lower  reaches,  near  the  state  line. 

Bakersville,  with  a  population  of  500  people,  is  eight  miles 
down  from  the  summit  of  the  Roan.  It  is  situated  on  Cane 
creek.  The  town  has  been  in  existence  only  twenty-one  years, 
is  substantially  built  up,  and  growing  rapidly.  The  mica  inter- 
ests are  doing  considerable  to  enrich  it.  An  Indian  town  was 
once  situated  here,  and  to  this  day,  although  unused  for  100 
years,  the  old  beaten  trail  of  the  red  man,  leading  from  Turkey 
Cove  to  the  Nollichucky,  is  still  visible,  by  the  bank  of  the 
creek,  under  the  bencling  grasses  which  grow  along  its  edges, 
but  still  refuse  to  spring  where  the  moccasin-footed  aborigines, 
for  probably  centuries,  wended  back  and  forth  from  Tennessee. 

Here,  near  the  village,  for  one  night's  encampment,  in  the 
course  of  their  flight  from  Morganton,  halted  the  "Franks" 
with  "Nollichucky  Jack,"  their  spirited  and  beloved  leader. 
The  details  of  his  escape  from  trial  are  given  in  another  chapter. 


274  In  the  Saddle. 

The  400  acres  of  valley,  in  which  the  town  is  situated,  was  a 
land  grant  of  1778,  from  North  Carolina  to  William  Sharpe  and 
John  McKnitt  Alexander,  clerk  of  the  famous  Mecklenburg 
convention.  The  old  grant,  with  the  surveyor's  plat  of  date 
September  30,  1770,  and  the  great  wax  seal  of  the  state  at- 
tached, is  among  the  archives  of  the  county. 

The  Clarissa  mica  mine,  in  operation  about  three  miles  from 
the  village,  is  a  point  of  attraction  for  the  tourist.  At  present 
work  is  going  on  more  than  400  feet  under  ground,  the  passage 
down  being  through  a  dismal  hole.  If  you  attempt  the  de- 
scent, the  daylight  will  be  appreciated  on  your  return. 

The  blocks  of  mica,  after  being  blasted  from  the  quartz  and 
granite  walls  in  which  they  lie  embedded,  are  brought  to  the  com- 
pany's shop  in  Bakersville.  Here  it  is  again  sorted,  the  bent 
and  otherwise  worthless  mica  being  thrown  aside.  That  which 
appears  merchantable  is  piled  on  the  table  before  the  workmen. 
Block  by  block  it  is  taken  and  split  into  sheets,  sufficiently  thin 
to  be  cut  by  large  iron  shears.  Specks  or  flaws  in  the  mica  are 
discovered  by  the  workman  holding  each  sheet,  in  turn,  be- 
tween his  eyes  and  the  light  through  a  window  before  him. 
The  defects  are  remedied  by  again  splitting  the  piece  and  takirtg 
off  the  thin  defective  layer.  When  entirely  clear  it  is  marked 
off  in  rectangular  shapes,  with  patterns,  and  then  cut  by  the 
shears.  The  sizes  are  assorted,  and  then  wrapped  and  tied  in 
pound  packages.  The  value  of  mica  ranges  from  half  a  dollar 
to  three  or  four  dollars  per  pound,  the  price  depending  upon 
the  size. 

The  Sink-hole  mines,  near  Bakersville,  now  abandoned,  have 
some  interesting  facts  connected  with  them.  Years  ago,  a  series 
of  closely-connected,  round,  basin-like  holes  in  the  soil  of  a 
slope,  creating  some  curiosity  as  to  why  and  by  whom  they 
were  formed,  induced  investigations.  One  was  dug  into,  and 
in  the  center  of  its  bottom,  embedded  in  the  rock,  was  dis- 


Traces  of  a  Prehistoric  People.  275 

covered  a  vein  of  mica,  which  was  followed  until  exhausted. 
The  other  holes  were  then  worked  in  turn  by  the  miners,  several 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  mica  being  obtained.  All  efforts  to 
strike  the  vein,  beyond  the  line  of  the  holes,  proved  unsuccess- 
ful. There  was  no  mica  discovered  in  the  vicinity  outside  the 
sink-holes.  In  some  of  them  curious  stone  tools  were  found, 
and  the  surface  of  the  rock,  around  the  mica  blocks,  in  many 
instances,  was  chipped  and  worn,  as  though  done  by  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  persons  trying  to  extricate  the  mica. 
These  ancient  operations  are  attributed  to  the  Mound  Builders. 
In  this  connection,  I  had  a  conversation  with  Garret  Ray,  of 
Burnsville,  containing  the  following: 

When  a  boy,  Mr.  Ray  had  his  attention  attracted  by  a  line  of 
stone  posts  set,  with  about  fifteen  feet  of  space  between  each, 
on  a  mountain  slope  of  his  father's  farm.  Years  after,  upon 
gaining  possession  of  the  property,  he  carried  into  execution  a 
long-cherished  idea  of  investigating  the  mystery  of  these  posts. 
They  marked  a  valuable  mica  vein,  whose  limits  did  not  extend 
beyond  them.  There  was  no  evidence  that  the  located  vein 
had  ever  been  worked.  By  what  surface  indications  or  arts  the 
mica  was  first  discovered  by  the  pre-historic  practical  miners, 
can  only  be  answered  by  an  oracle. 

Many  other  traces  have  been  discovered  through  the  moun- 
tain country  of  a  people  who  inhabited  it  before  the  advent  of 
the  Cherokees.  Among  the  numerous  mounds  to  be  seen  by 
the  traveler  in  the  broad  valleys  of  the  region,  the  one  at  Frank- 
lin undoubtedly  take's  precedence  in  shapeliness  of  outline.  A 
few  years  since  it  was  opened  and  a  quantity  of  stone  tools  and 
ornaments  taken  from  it.  Eight  miles  southeast  of  Franklin, 
in  the  year  1820,  soon  after  the  transfer  of  that  section  by  the 
Cherokees  to  the  whites,  a  negro  tenant  of  Silas  McDowell, 
while  at  work  plowing,  discovered,  fifteen  inches  under  ground, 
a  stratum  of  charcoal,  and  under  this  a  burned  clay  slab,  bear- 


276  In  the  Saddle. 

ing  on  its  lower  side  the  imprint  of  the  face  and  form  of  a  man. 
Unfortunately,  the  slab,  which  was  seven  by  four  feet  in  dimen- 
sions, was  broken  into  pieces,  thus  destroying  a  relic  of  untold 
value  to  the  archaeologist  The  former  inmate  of  this  sepul- 
chre was  probably  buried  and  then  cremated  by  the  race,  ac- 
cording to  its  religious  rites. 

The  Pigeon  valley  has  been  a  great  field  for  the  relic  hunter. 
Mr.  Osborne,  living  about  threee  miles  south  of  the  Pigeon 
River  station,  has,  for  a  number  of  years,  acted  as  an  agent  for 
a  Richmond  gentleman,  in  collecting  the  most  curious  of  the 
ornaments  and  pieces  of  pottery  turned  up  by  the  farmer's 
plows.  At  least  2,000  of  these  relics  have  passed  through  his 
hands.  Among  a.  few  which  the  writer  saw  at  Mr.  Osborne's 
farm-house,  was  a  group  of  men  seated  around  a  great  bowl  and 
smoking  the  pipe  of  peace.  It  consisted  of  one  entire  piece  of 
soapstone,  the  figures  being  sculptured  in  correct  proportions. 
They  were  raised  about  three  inches  above  the  ground  part  on 
which  they  were  resting.  Another  was  of  two  men  struggling 
with  a  bear.  Thousands  of  arrow  and  spear  heads  have  been 
found  in  the  valley.  That  the  latter  have  no  commercial  value 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  the  long  walks  from  the  front  fence 
to  the  house  of  the  above  mentioned  farmer,  are  paved  with 
them.  Stone  walls  upon  hill  slopes  have  been  unearthed  in  the 
vicinity.  After  this  digression  let  us  return  to  the  journey. 

The  ride,  by  the  nearest  road  from  Bakersville  to  Burns- 
ville,  will  lead  the  traveler  for  some  distance  along  the  banks  of 
the  Toe  river.  Deep,  wide  fords  are  to  be  crossed,  and  lonely 
forests  ridden  through.  To  the  lover  of  nature,  the  solitude  of 
some  portions  of  the  road  will  have  in  them  nothing  of  a  de- 
pressing nature.  Burnsville  is  described  in  another  chapter. 
From  the  latter  village  the  road  leads  direct  to  Asheville.  The 
dark  outlines  of  the  Black  mountains  are  visible  throughout  a 
great  part  of  the  way.  The  road  was  in  splendid  condition 


End  of  the  Ride.  277 

when  I  traveled  over  it,  and  enabled  me,  with  a  sound  horse, 
to  arrive,  in  good  shape,  in  the  county  seat  of  Buncombe,  after 
an  interesting  horse-back  journey  of  more  than  300  miles. 


BEYOND  IRON  WAYS. 


If  thou  art  worn  and  hard  beset 

With  sorrows  that  thou  would'st  forget, 

If  thou  would'st  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 

Thy  heart  from  fainting  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, 

Go  to  the  woods  and  hills  ! — No  tears 

Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears. 

Longfellow. 

Ql^AINLY  the  mountaineers  beside  the  ancient 'stage-road, 
up  the  Blue  Ridge  from  McDowell  county  into  Bun 
combe,  may  listen  for  the  old-time  winding  of  the  driver's  bugle 
the  rumbling  of  strong-spoked  wheels,  and  the  rattling  of  trace- 
chains  ;  or  wait  to  see  the  familiar  outlines  of  four  gray  horses, 
hallooing  reinsman  and  loaded  Concord  stage  swinging  round 
some  bold  cliff,  and  drawing  nearer  up  the  rich  green  avenue  of 
the  forest :  the  days  of  staging  by  this  route  into  Asheville  are 
over.  But  "Jehu"  with  his  prancing  steeds  and  swaying 
coach  is  not,  in  this  region,  a  being  of  the  past ;  for  the  whistle 
of  the  locomotive  has  only  served  to  drive  him  further  into  the 
mountains. 

To  those  who  are  little  familiar  with  stage-riding,  there  is  in 

279 


280  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

it  something  of'  pleasing  novelty.  I  never  see  the  old  red  vehicle 
lumbering  along  without  having  awakened  in  my  mind  some  one 
of  Dickens'  many  vivid  pictures  of  rapid  drives,  where,  in  his 
words: — ''Houses  in  twos  and  threes  pass  by  us,  solitary  farms, 
ruinous  buildings,  dye-works,  tanneries  and  the  like,  open  coun- 
try, avenues  of  leafless  trees.  The  hard  uneven  pavement  is 
under  us,  the  soft  deep  mud  on  either  side.  Sometimes,  we 
strike  into  the  skirting  mud,  to  avoid  the  stones  that  clatter  us 
and  shake  us  ;  sometimes,  we  strike  into  ruts  and  stick  there. 
The  wind  is  rushing  after  us,  and  the  clouds  are  flying  after  us, 
and  the  moon  is  plunging  after  us,  and  the  whole  wild  night  is 
in  pursuit  of  us." 

One  of  the  stage  routes,  now  in  operation,  is  from  the  present 
terminus  of  the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad  at  Pigeon 
River,  to  Waynesville,  ten  miles  distant.  If  the  time-table  is 
the  same  it  was  when  we  last  traveled  over  the  new-laid  rails 
from  Asheville,  up  the  Hominy  valley,  over  dizzy  trestle-works, 
and  burst  through  a  narrow  mud-cut  between  the  hills  into  the 
wide  valley  of  the  Pigeon; — if  it  is  this  way,  I  say,  the  tourist 
will  take  a  late  dinner  at  a  large  brick  farm-house  beside  the 
station,  and  then  secure  a  place  with  the  colored  driver  on  the 
top  of  the  stage.  A  jolly  crowd  is  packed  away  inside.  '  Per- 
haps, if  you  are  an  agreeable  fellow,  one  of  the  young  ladies 
may  prefer  a  perch  outside  with  you,  and  thus  help  to  fill  up 
the  boot  and  hinder  the  spread  of  the  reinsman's  elbows  as  he 
rounds  some  of  the  coming  curves.  Trunks  and  band-boxes 
are  piled  up  behind  you.  You  wave  your  hand  to  the  land- 
lord ;  'the  driver  gives  a  parting  wink  at  the  cook  who  is  peering 
through  the  shutters  of  the  kitchen  ;  and  then,  responsive  to  the 
the  crack  of  the  whip,  the  horses  start,  and  whirling  behind  it 
a  cloud  of  dust,  the  stage  begins  its  journey. 

There  is  nothing  particularly  enchanting  about  the  landscape 
for  the  next  ten  miles.  The  road  beneath  is  beaten  hard,  and 


From  the  Stage  Top.  281 

smooth  as  a  floor.  It  is  not  always  so  agreeable  riding  over, 
however,  for  it  is  of  red  clay  ;  and  in  winter,  with  snows,  thaws, 
and  rains,  it  becomes  almost  impassible.  They  tell  of  empty 
wagons  being  stalled  in  places  during  the  inclement  seasons.  I 
have  a  vivid  recollection  of  helping,  one  dark  April  night, 
to  unload  a  light  Jersey  wagon,  drawn  by  two  stout  horses,  in 
order  to  release  the  hub-deep  sunken  wheels,  and  allow  us  to 
proceed  on  our  way  from  Waynesville. 

Now  a  broad  valley  is  whirled  through,  with  humble  cottages 
along  the  way;  then  a  hill  is  ascended,  the  stage  rising  slowly, 
and  then  rattling  on  behind  the  lively  trotting  of  the  horses  as 
you  pass  down  the  opposite  declivity.  The  driver  over  moun- 
tain roads  always  trots  his  horses  going  down  hill.  It  is  neces- 
sary in  order  to  make  up  for  the  delay  incurred  in  the  long, 
wearisome  ascents,  and  the  horses,  in  contradiction  to  first  prin- 
ciples, appear  to  stand  up  well  under  it. 

Again  you  strike  the  Big  Pigeon.  Concealed  by  its  wood- 
bordered  banks,  it  has  passed  through  the  valley,  and  now 
through  vistas  of  vines,  azaleas,  chinquapin  bushes,  locust  and 
beech  trees,  reveals  its  limpid  waters,  swift  and  slow,  in  turns, 
as  the  basin  is  deep,  or  a  pebble-shingled  bottom  throws  it  in 
splashing  rapids.  Pairs  of  whistling  sand-pipers  run  teetering 
over  the  sands,  and  then  fly  on  down  the  river  at  your  noisy 
approach;  turtle  doves,  with  "shocking  tameness,"  only  rise 
from  the  road  when  some  of  the  pebbles,  struck  up  by  the 
horses,  shower  around  them  ;  a  surly  dog,  from  a  weather-worn 
dwelling,  leaps  through  the  broken  pickets  of  the  fence,  and 
for  a  hundred  yards  follows,  barking,  close  to  the  wheels ;  long 
open  fields  extend  on  one  side ;  and  then  the  driver,  with  foot 
on  the  break,  with  loud  "whoa,"  stops  the  sweating  horses  be- 
fore a  country  store.  He  reaches  down  under  his  feet,  into  the 
giant  pocket  of  the  stage,  and  draws  forth  a  pad-locked  leather 
mail-bag  which  he  tosses  down  into  the  outstretched  arms  of 


282  Beyond  Iron   1 1 7ays. 

the  bare-headed  post-master,  grocer,  and  township  magistrate 
combined. 

' 'How  yer  to-day,  squire?"   asks  the  driver. 

''Good.      How's  yourself ?" 

"Bettah." 

"Who  you  got  inside?" 

"Party  from  Alabam',  I  reckon." 

"Where  they  going?" 

"White  Sulphur;  an'  say,  look  a  heah,  foh  dis  in-foh-ma-shun 
bring  me  out  a  twist  o'  backer." 

The  recipient  of  the  bag  passes  through  a  crowd  of  six  or 
eight  men  about  the  door-way,  and  enters  the  store.  A  few 
minutes  elapse  in  which  the  "Jehu"  fires  some  tongue  shots 
at  the  loungers ;  then  the  mail-bag  is  returned,  the  foot  is  taken 
from  the  break,  the  whip  cracks,  and  away  you  go.  Another 
store  is  passed  with  a  saw-mill  opposite  to  it,  and  the  river, 
blocked  until  it  spreads  to  twice  its  customary  breadth,  pour- 
ing and  thundering  over  a  substantial  dam.  The  noise  of 
waters  and  the  saw  is  deafening;  then,  in  a  twinkling,  it  is 
all  still,  and  you  are  trotting  along  between  green  hedges,  and 
great  clouds  of  dust  envelope  the  barking  dogs  which  follow. 

Along  the  way  is  seen  the  prepared  trail  for  the  iron  horse 
which  is  to  supersede  stage-travel ; — the  great  yellow  dirt  em- 
bankments through  the  fields ;  the  deep  grading  sinking  dizzily 
close  at  the  roadside  ;  the  short  curves  through  narrow  valleys, 
and  the  swallowing  of  it  all  by  the  solitary  woods. 

If  you  are  fortunate  enough  to  ride  with  the  same  good- 
natured  driver  whom  we  had,  and  he  is  in  mellow  mood,  you 
may  be  interested  for  an  hour  by  a  story  which  he  is  fond  of 
telling.  For  fear  that  you  might  get  the  wrong  man,  I  will  tell 
it  in  condensed  form. 

In  the  fall  of  1877,  the  driver  was  employed  on  the  stage  route 
from  Asheville  to  Henry's.  He  was  an  old  reinsman,  but  the 


The  Reinsmati  s  Story.  283 

road  was  unfamiliar  to  him  from  the  fact  of  his  being  only  lately 
transferred  from  another  branch.  One  afternoon  in  November, 
with  the  highway  slippery  under-foot  from  a  cold  sleet,  he  left 
Asheville  with  the  heavy  stage  and  a  party  of  five  persons  in- 
side,— an  old,  white-haired  man  and  four  women.  He  was 
unavoidably  delayed  at  different  points,  so  that,  when  he  began 
the  actual  descent  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  a  black,  cold  night  en- 
veloped the  landscape.  With  his  teeth  chattering,  he  lighted 
the  lamps,  drew  on  his  gloves  again,  mounted  to  his  place,  and 
began  rumbling  downward.  Over-head  the  trees  creaked  and 
groaned  in  the  hollow  blast ;  the  horses  slipped  in  turns  as  they 
pushed  along,  and  the  huge  stage  would  occasionally  slide,  -in 
spite  of  the  locked  brake,  down  on  the  flanks  of  the  rear  span. 
Even  with  this  uncomfortable  state  of  affairs,  he  could  have 
driven  along  without  much  hazard,  but  suddenly  the  lamps 
went  out.  Through  strange  carelessness  he  had  forgotten  to 
refill  them  when  he  left  the  stables.  The  darkness  was  like  that 
of  a  soundless  mine :  it  was  almost  palpable.  Staggered  with 
the  situation,  he  checked  his  horses.  He  must  go  on,  but  how 
could  he  ?  Near  at  hand  he  knew  was  the  most  dangerous  place 
in  the  whole  road,  where  even  a  slight  pull  to  one  side  would 
^end  the  stage  and  its  occupants  rolling  down  a  declivity,  steep, 
deep  and  rugged  enough  to  smash  the  former,  and  kill  every 
one  of  the  latter.  The  horses,  accustomed  to  the  way,  might 
possibly  be  trusted;  but  then  that  possibility!  It  was  too  slip- 
pery to  lead  them,  and  besides  his  foot  must  be  on  and  off  the 
break  in  turns.  It  was  imperative  for  him  to  be  at  Henry's  that 
night,  both  on  account  of  his  express  duties  and  his  passengers, 
who  would  freeze  before  morning.  He  sat  shivering  on  the 
stage  top. 

He  heard  the  stage  door  open  below,  but  knew  not  for  what 
reason,  nor  whose  feet  were  striking  the  ground,  until  a  voice 
came  up  out  of  the  pitchy  darkness : 


284  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  on  ?  " 

It  was  the  old  gentleman  who  spoke. 

"  Can't.     Don't  you  see  de  lamps  ar'  out?" 

"  What  of  that?     We  must  go  on." 

"  Bar's  a  bad  pitch  right  yeh,  an'  I  wouldn't  risk  hit  foh  no 
money." 

"  Do  you  know  exactly  where  we  are?  I  can't  distinguish 
anything. " 

"  Yes,  at  de  cliff  spring." 

"  The  cliff  spring.  I  remember  it.  All  right ;"  and,  saying 
this,  the  elderly  passenger  was  climbing  up  beside  the  driver. 
''•Let  me  take  the  reins,"  he  continued. 

"  You!  "  exclaimed  the  driver. 

'  'Yes.  I  know  this  road  like  a  book.  I've  driven  over  it 
many  as  dark  nights  as  this,  during  forty  years  of  my  life." 

And  as  the  driver  told  it  to  me:  "  I  done  jist  let  dat  ole 
man  pull  dem  ribbans  outer  my  han's,  an'  I  hel'  onter  de  brake, 
while  he  put  dose  hosses  down  aroun'  dat  ben';  an'  in  less  'en 
an  houh  we  wuz  stannin'  afoah  de  Henry  hotel.  Hit  beat  de 
debbil  how  dat  wrinkled,  rich-lookin'  ole  fellah  driv  !  Couldn't 
fine  out  a  ting  'bout  him  ;  no  one  peered  ter  know  him.  An' 
I'm  done  badgered  ter  know  who  he  wuz,  enny  how.  He'd 
a  made  a  crackin'  ole  stage  drivah  ;  an'  dar's  no  use  talkin'  on 
dat  pint!" 

So  went  the  story.  Meanwhile  your  journey  is  progressing. 
The  stage  has  rattled  around  a  bend,  leaving  the  neat,  home-like, 
brick  dwelling  of  Dr.  Samuel  Love,  on  the  top  of  a  wooded 
hill,  beside  the  road  ;  and  then,  before  you,  stretches  an  en- 
chanting mountain  landscape.  On  the  summit  of  a  plateau-like 
expanse,  in  the  center  of  the  scene,  is  a  picturesque  village. 
You  see  the  clustered  white  frame  and  brick  buildings,  with  the 
smoke  curling  above  them  from  home  fires  ;  the  modest  church 
steeples,  and,  perhaps,  if  it  is  growing  dusky,  you  may  hear 


Under  Princely  Peaks.  285 

the  mellow  chiming  of  bells  through  the  evening  air.  Majestic 
mountains  rise  on  all  sides  into  the  blue  sky.  Afar,  Old  Bald, 
his  brethren  Balsams,  Lickstone  mountain,  and  Mount  Serbal,- 
lift  their  heads.  In  lofty  outlines,  the  Junaluska  group  of  Bal- 
sams stand  black  against  the  glowing  western  sky.  Across  a 
low,  plank  bridge,  which  covers  a  little  stream  coming  from  the 
rabbit-haunted  hedges  of  a  valley  meadow, — up  a  mild  declivity 
of  hill, — through  a  long,  yellow  street  with  dwellings,  a  church, 
a  court-house,  a  jail,  hotels,  and  stores,  on  either  side, — and  you 
are  in  the  center  of  Waynesville. 

Waynesville,  the  county-seat  of  Haywood,  is  2,7 5 6  feet  above 
the  ocean.  Of  the  peaks  in  sight  around  it,  five  attain  a  height 
of  6,000  feet  and  upwards.  Every  mountain  is  clothed  from 
base  to  summit  with  heavy  woods.  That  chain  arising  in  the 
south  in  lofty  outlines,  black  with  firs,  is  the  Balsam.  The  Hay- 
wood  mountains,  bounding  the  northern  line  of  vision,  are, 
owing  to  their  distance,  arrayed  in  purple,  and  usually  crowned 
with  white  masses  of  clouds,  which  at  sunset  turn  to  orange, 
run  to  molten  gold  and  then  blazing  with  scarlet  resolve  into 
darkness.  The  village  occupies  the  most  elevated  portion  of 
the  plateau.  Two  parallel  streets,  crossed  by  four  or  five 
shorter  ones,  make  up  the  general  ground-work  of  the  town. 
Interspersed  with  vacant,  weed-grown  lots,  the  dwellings  and 
buildings,  occupied  by  about  300  people,  face  on  these  winding 
thoroughfares.  A  few  locust  trees  border  the  rough,  stony 
walks.  Apple  and  peach  trees  hang  over  thickly-planted  gar- 
dens within  the  unpainted  long  board  fences  before  many  of  the 
houses. 

The  head-center  for  daily  congregation  seems  to  be  the  post- 
office.  Its  red-mud-splattered  'front  and  porch-posts  whisper 
of  a  rainy  season  and  stamping  horses  to  the  tourist  who  stands 
on  the  hard  level  road.  The  mosses  on  the  porch  roof  also 
speak  of  dampness  and  age.  Opposite  the  post-office,  in  1882, 


286  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

was  still  standing,  intact  and  in  use,  the  county's  venerable 
hall  of  justice.  To  some  it  may  appear  a  sarcasm  to  use  that 
title  for  it:  still,  justice  is  no  less  likely  to  preside  in  pristine 
purity  within  battered,  worm-eaten  doors,  above  a  tan-bark  floor, 
under  a  low  ceiling,  and  surrounded  by  dingy  walls,  than  within 
frescoed  ceilings,  stone  walls  and  chiseled  columns ! 

"  For  Justice 
AD  place  a  temple,  and  all  season,  summer !  " 

However,  the  court  days  for  the  old  hall  are  past.  A  new 
and  imposing  brick  structure  has  just  been  erected  at  the  north 
end  of  the  village.  That  an  air  of  enterprise  is  circulating  is 
evident.  Numerous  new  buildings,  with  fresh-painted  or  brick 
fronts  have  lately  arisen  in  place,  making  striking  contrasts  with 
the  old  rookeries  of  fifty  years  existence  standing  here  and 
there. 

The  village  was  named  in  honor  of  *•  Mad  Anthony  "  Wayne 
in  the  long  gone  years  of  its  birth.  Until  the  last  half  decade 
of  years  it  has  rested  in  a  quiet  little  less  profound  than 
that  of  the  dreamy  valleys  around  it.  Of  late  new  energy  has 
been  infused  into  it.  The  world  beyond  the  mountain  limits  of 
this  hidden  hamlet  is  beginning  to  hear  of  it  as  a  summer  re- 
sort. Acting  upon  this  knowledge,  the  tourists  with  every 
season  now  come  trooping  up  from  the  low-lands.  The  grading, 
bridges,  and  embankments  for  the  railroad  are  all  completed, 
and  even  before  many  months  Waynesville  will  have  the  cars 
within  its  corporate  boundaries. 

In  all  the  mountain  towns  court-week  is  the  marked  event  of 
the  year.  There  is  a  spring  and  fall  term.  As  the  counties  in- 
crease in  population,  the  two  terms  are  frequently  lengthened 
into  weeks.  At  such  times  the  village  streets  are  packed  with 
a  mass  of  humanity.  The  court  might  well  be  likened  to  a 
magnet,  the  limit  to  its  attraction  being  the  boundaries  of  the 
county;  and  within  that  circle,  during  the  periods  of  its  opera- 


Coining  to  Coitrt.  287 

tion,  having  an  irre>istible,  invisible  power  to  draw  even*  citi- 
zen into  the  count}  -seat.  They  are  all  there  at  some  interval 
of  its  proceedings. 

As  a  court-day  in  any  one  of  the  villages  is  typical  of  what  is 
seen  at  such  times  in  all  the  others,  the  writer  will  use  as  an 
illustration  one  which  he  spent  in  Waynesville.  It  was  at  the 
time  of  the  fall  term  ;  the  month  being  October.  On  the  Sun- 
day preceding  the  opening  Monday,  the  honorable  judge,  having 
closed  court  in  the  neighboring  county,  drove  into  the  village. 
The  usual  number  of  lawyers  from  scattered  villages  who  go 
on  the  circuit  soon  came  straggling  in  on  horse-back  not  far  in 
his  honor's  wake.  Later  in  the  evening  and  the  next  morning 
others  of  the  profession  entered  on  foot,  pursuing  this  method 
of  traveling  as  though  desirous  of  saving  a  little  money,  or  per- 
haps having  none  either  to  save  or  spend.  The  days  of  the 
circuit  are  interesting  ones  for  this  legal  coterie.  It  has  its 
jovial,  crusty,  bumptious,  bashful,  i  boyish,  and  bald-headed 
members ;  old  pettifoggers,  young  shysters,  and  the  brilliant 
and  erudite  real  attorney.  The  active  out-door  exercise  enjoyed 
in  following  the  court  in  his  rounds  tends  to  make  the  village 
lawyer  a  good-natured  fellow,  and  besides,  even  if  his  practice 
is  poor,  he  has  no  exorbitant  office  rent  to  worry  him.  He 
ought  certainly  to  be  a  healthy,  contented  specimen  of  humanity. 

Even  before  all  the  shop-keepers  had  opened  their  doors  and 
swung  back  their  shutters  to  exhibit  newly  stocked  counters, 
the  farming  population  began  pouring  in.  Now  and  then  the 
broad  hat  of  a  man  on  foot  would  appear  above  the  crest  of  the 
hill  ;  then  would  follow  a  strong  team  of  horses  drawing  a 
white-covered.  Pennsylvania  wagon  ;  next,  a  slow-moving  ox 
team  with  hooped  and  canvassed  vehicle.  These  tents  on  wheels 
would  disgorge  into  the  street  either  a  whole  family  or  a  crowd 
of  men  evidently  from  the  same  neighborhood.  On  other  occa- 
sions they  ithe  wagons),  loaded  with  apples  and  possibly  a  bar- 


288  Beyond  Iron  Ways, 

rel  of  hard  cider,  would  be  longer  in  getting  relieved  of  their 
contents.  The  Jerseys  of  independent  valley  farmers  came 
rattling  in  at  a  later  hour.  The  general  way  of  coming  to  town, 
however,  is  in  the  saddle.  Horses  and  mules,  with  good,  easy 
gait,  are  always  in  demand  through  this  country,  and  the  num- 
ber of  them  ranged  along  the  street  fences  appears  strange  to 
the  Northerner. 

That  morning  I  saw  on  the  street  several  Indians  from  the 
banks  of  Soco  creek  twenty  miles  distant.  They  were  not 
arrayed  in  the  picturesque  pomp  of  the  savage,  but:  in  the  garb 
of  civilization — home-spun  coats  arid  pantaloons,  muslin  shirts, 
and  black  hats.  One  of  them,  mounted  on  a  stout  little  bay 
pony,  was  trying  to  sell  his  animal  to  some  one  in  a  crowd  of 
horse-traders.  Ponies  can  be  purchased  of  the  Cherokees  at 
prices  ranging  from  forty  to.  seventy-five  dollars.  At  present, 
however,  there  are  very  few  of  the  full-blooded  stock  in  the  res- 
ervation. The  other  aborigines  whom  I  chanced  to  see  were, 
with  moccasined  feet,  threading  their  ways  through  the  crowds 
of  lighter-complexioned,  blue-clothed  dwellers  of  the  forests. 

The  strongest  drink  sold  openly  during  court-week  is  cider. 
Several  wagons,  holding  barrels  containing  it,  occupy  stations 
close  by  the  court-house  door.  A  supply  of  ginger  cake  is 
sold  with  the  cider.  Whiskey  can  be  procured  at  the  drug 
store,  but  only  on  prescription.  To  the  uninitiated  it  is  a  mys- 
tery where  so  many  prescriptions  come  from  ;  but  perhaps  a 
certain  judge  from  a  lower  county,  who  some  time  since  pre- 
sided in  this  court,  might  rise  and  explain.  The  judge  in  ques- 
tion was  exhausted  from  travel  and  badly  under  the  weather. 
Upon  his  arrival  in  the  village  he  dispatched  a  negro  to  the 
drug  store  for  a  bottle  of  this  singularly  accredited  panacea  for 
all  evils.  The  druggist  refused  to  comply  with  the  request, 
sending  back  word  that  he  was  obliged  in  all  cases  to  conform 
to  the  requirements  of  the  law,  and  that  his  honor  should  con- 


Within  the  Hall  of  Justice.  289 

suit  a  physician.  Later  in  the  day  the  judge  himself  appeared 
at  the  drug  store,  and  taking  a  package  of  paper  from  his 
pocket,  cooly  counted  off  sixteen  prescriptions.  Said  he: 

"I  have  consulted  my  physician.  You  may  fill  one  of  these 
now ;  hang  the  others  on  your  hook,  and  fill  them  as  I  send 
my  order." 

Whether  the  judge  called  for  them  all  during  the  time  he  pre- 
sided on  that  bench,  is  no  part  of  the  story. 

In  the  practice  before  the  bar  of  the  tribunal  there  is  no 
marked  difference  between  the  proceedings  of  the  mountain 
county  court  and  those  of  the  courts  of  other  states  practicing 
under  the  code.  It  has  a  peculiar  but  beneficent  feature, 
however,  in  the  rapidity  with  which  cases  are  disposed 
of.  One  great  end  of  justice,  too  frequently  neglected — 
that  wrongs  shall  be  promptly  righted — is  hereby  secured. 
A  false  and  irreversible  judgment  of  the  court  occurring,  as 
may  be,  upon  too  hasty  examination  of  a  case,  is  no  worse 
for  the  litigant  than  the  trial  of  the  heart  between  hope 
and  despair  for  long,  weary  years  before  a  decision  is  rendered, 
even  though  that  decision  be  just. 

I  witnessed  one  murder  case  disposed  of  in  two  days,  when, 
anywhere  in  the  North,  the  same  trial  would  have  occupied  as 
many  weeks.  The  call  of  the  crier  from  an  upstairs  window 
announced  that  the  court  was  open.  During  the  course  of  the 
morning  I  went  in.  Seats  arranged  on  a  scale  ascending  from 
the  lawyers'  tables  to  the  rear  wall  were  crowded  to  overflow- 
ing. The  single  aisle  was  filled  so  that  one  could  hardly  elbow 
one's  way  in.  The  crowd  changed  considerably  in  its  make-up 
during  the  morning  session ;  for  uninterested  auditors  were 
continually  sliding  out  of  one  of  the  handy  windows  and  others 
crawling  in  to  fill  the  vacancies.  Some  wormed  their  way  out 
through  the  aisle. 

In  regular  routine,  cases  were    called,    facts   stated  by  attor- 


290  In  the  Saddle. 

neys,  usual  examination  and  brow-beating  of  witnesses,  wrang- 
ling of  counsel,  hammering  for  order  by  the  sheriff,  the  old 
practitioner's  quiet  and  plausible  argument  to  the  drowsy  jury, 
the  spread-eagle  burst  of  oratory  on  the  part  of  the  fresh  blos- 
somed sprig  of  the  law,  the  charge  of  the  judge  (which,  in 
truth,  is  generally  the  settlement  of  the  whole  proceeding),  and 
then  the  departure  of  the  twelve  confused  peers  to  a  house  on 
a  back  street,  or  a  vacant  lot  near  by,  where,  on  a  pile  of  lum 
ber,  they  revolve  the  abstruse  questions  involved  and  bring  in 
a  verdict  according  to  the  facts.  (?)  Judgment  pronounced 
forthwith,  or  suspended  on  motion. 

At  12  o'clock  the  court  adjourned,  and  the  crier  appearing  at 
the  front  door  gave  vent  in  high-strung  monotone  to  the  fol- 
lowing:'  "Hear  ye!  hear  ye!  This  honorable  court  is  now 
adjourned."  Here  he  took  breath  and  went  on  again  :  "The 
good  people  of  Haywood  will  take  notice  that  at  2  o'clock  the 
Honorable  General  Clingman  will  address  them  on  the  issues  of 
the  day!" 

This  sounded  queer  to  a  stranger ;  court  adjourning  to  give 
way  for  a  political  speech.  A  number  of  elections  were  to  take 
place  in  November.  It  was  fit  that  the  people  should  be  pre- 
pared to  cast  their  ballots  with  discretion.  In  accordance  with 
this  view,  during  that  fall  term  of  court,  the  respective  candi- 
dates of  either  party  for  the  offices  of  solicitor,  representative, 
senator,  and  state  offices  were  given  the  afternoons  of  the 
session  to  enlighten  the  populace  with  their  wisdom  on  state 
and  municipal  affairs,  and  sway  them  with  their  eloquence. 
With  the  afternoon  speeches,  ended  the  court  day. 

The  White  Sulphur  Spring  Hotel  is  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  village.  It  was  by  the  stage  line  that  we  approached 
it  in  the  summer  of  1882.  The  mail-bags  had  been  flung  down 
to  the  good-natured-looking  post-master,  and  several  passengers 
distributed  at  the  hotels  on  the  village  street,  when  we  turned 


The  White  Sulphur  Springs.  291 

down  a  hill  toward  Richland  creek,  first  passing  several  plain 
dwellings  and  two  churches.  One  of  the  churches  (the  Epis- 
copal) is  a  well-built  little  house  of  worship.  The  creek  must 
be  forded,  and  then  follows  a  delightful  stretch  of  road  along 
its  banks,  until,  after  swinging  around  several  corners,  rattling 
over  rivulet  bridges,  speeding  by  a  house  or  two  on  knolls  in 
fields,  we  passed  through  a  frame  gate  into  the  grounds  of  the 
Sulphur  Spring. 

The  grounds  are  naturally  adapted  for  a  summer  resort.  A 
grand  forest,  principally  of  oaks,  covers  about  eight  acres  of 
level  ground,  through  which,  with  green  sward  on  either  hand, 
winds  the  road  toward  the  hotel.  The  hotel  is  a  large  farm- 
house, remodeled  and  added  to  until  its  original  proportions  and 
design  are  lost.  Near  it,  at  the  foot  of  a  low  wooded  hill,  is  a 
line  of  cottages  connected  with  the  main  structure  simply  by  a 
graveled  walk,  which  also  leads  to  the  sulphur  spring  bubbling 
up  in  a  stone  basin  within  a  small  summer-house.  There  is  a 
comfortable,  healthy  air  about  the  hotel  and  its  surroundings. 

Close  in  the  rear  of  the  resort  buildings  rises  a  line  of  moun- 
tains, lofty  in  height,  but  forming  only  the  foot-hills  to  the 
Junaluska  group.  The  highest  pinnacle  of  the  foot-hill  range 
is  Mount  Maria,  so  named  in  honor  of  the  wife  of  Major  W. 
W.  Stringfield,  the  proprietor  of  the  Spring  property.  From 
the  wide  porches  of  the  hotel  sublime  mountain  prospects  can 
be  obtained.  A  smooth,  cultivated  valley,  a  mile  or  more  in 
length,  by  a  half-mile  wide,  fills  the  foreground  to  these  views. 
Some  portions  of  it, are  covered  with  corn,  and  in  the  meadows 
are  generally  grazing  a  hundred  head  of  cattle.  A  pleasant 
pastoral  air  prevades  this  foreground  picture  set  in  the  emerald 
frame  of  the  forests.  And  then  in  the  distance  is  discerned  the 
green  front  of  Mount  Serbal,  and  beyond  it  the  black  summits 
of  the  Richland  Balsam  mountains.  Just  across  the  creek, 


292  Beyond  Iron  \  I  'ays. 

which  flows  outside  the  grounds,  lies  the  prepared  railroad  bed. 
It  is  only  a  minute's  walk  from  it  to  the  hotel. 

Of  all  country  roads  for  quiet  rambles  or  delightful  horse- 
back rides,  there  are  none  in  the  mountains  to  excel  the  one  up 
Richland  creek,  from  the  White  Sulphur  Spring,  to  the  base  of 
Old  Bald.  The  forests  all  along  the  stream  are  cool  and  refresh- 
ing. Where  the  road  comes  down  to  its  fords  under  the  con- 
cealing chestnuts  and  oaks,  long  foot-logs  reach  from  bank  to 
bank.  The  old  mill  at  one  of  these  fords  presents  a  picture  for 
the  artist — the  brilliant  beech  that  rustles  around  it;  the  crystal 
race;  the  roar  in  the  flume;  the  piles  of  old  logs  and  scattered 
timber;  and  the  open,  dingy  front  of  the  structure  itself. 

On  crossing  the  state  road,  the  Richland  creek  road  enters  a 
large,  unfencecl  forest,  where  nearly  every  evening,  in  spring, 
summer,  or  fall,  teamsters,  who  are  either  farmers  or  root  buy- 
ers, encamp  for  the  night.  Their  Pennsylvania  wagons  are  like 
great  white-covered  scows  strangely  mounted  on  wheels.  At 
night,  with  the  light  of  camp  fires  thrown  on  them,  they  are 
spectral  in  their  whiteness.  Often,  in  the  darkness  of  the  forest, 
while  on  our  way  from  the  village  to  our  temporary  home  in 
the  country,  we  have  suddenly  run  upon  these  encampments 
after  their  fires  have  smouldered,  and  only  been  awakened  to  a 
knowledge  of  their  presence  by  the  sharp  barking  of  wakeful 
dogs. 

One  particular  night,  well  worth  remembering,  I  was  return- 
ing on  foot  from  WTaynesville  after  a  late  wait  there  for  the 
irregular  evening  mail.  It  was  cloudy  and  quite  dark,  even  where 
the  state  road,  which  I  was  trudging  over,  runs  between  open 
fields.  On  branching  into  the  Richland  creek  road  and  into  the 
forest  just  mentioned,  the  change  to  still  deeper  darkness  would 
have  made  it  difficult  for  me  to  avoid  stumbling  over  the  rocks 
that  here  and  there  are  scattered  on  the  way,  and  even  to  keep 
clear  of  tree  boles,  if  the  bright  light  of  a  high  fire  had  not 


Around  the  Camp  Fire.  295 

illuminated  the  outer  margin  of  the  wood.  Under  a  gigantic 
poplar  two  large  white  wagons  were  visible,  and  between  them 
was  the  fire.  A  group  of  men  was  seated  near  it.  At  my  ap- 
proach two  clogs  sprang  up  growling  from  the  scattered  hay 
where  the  horses  were  feeding,  but  at  the  warning  yell  of  some 
one  who  was  evidently  their  master,  they  became  quiet  again. 
The  group  consisted  of  four  men  seated  on  the  end  boards 
taken  from  the  wagons,  and  laid  on  the  ground.  They  were 
playing  cards,  and  having  a  good  time.  I  was  about  to  pass 
on,  but  recognizing  the  face  and  voice  of  one  member  of  the 
party,  I  stepped  up  to  them,  and  was  in  turn  recognized  by 
him. 

"Wai,  glad  to  see  you,"  said  he,  dropping  the  pack  of 
cards  he  was  dealing,  and  jumping  to  his  feet. 

"  Howdy  !"  exclaimed  the  others  in  turn  as  I  spoke  to  each. 
"Why,  what  are  you  skulking  round  the  woods  so  late  at  night 
for?"  continued  the  first  speaker. 

He  was  a  good-natured  and  intelligent  young  man,  by  name 
Upson,  whom  I  had  met  once  before  in  an  adjoining  county  at 
a  country  store,  where  he  was  exchanging  dry-goods  and  tin- 
ware for  ginseng,  Solomon's  snake  roots,  herbs  and  mica.  I 
answered  his  question,  and  upon  urgent  invitation  seated  my- 
self by  the  fire.  Two  of  the  party  were  going  to  Asheville  to 
attend  Federal  court.  The  elderly  man  and  owner  of  one 
wagon  was  journeying  in  company  with  the  young  trader  and 
his  wagon  to  the  Asheville  market.  The  interrupted  game  of 
seven-up  was  never  resumed.  In  the  course  of  conversation 
Upson  spoke  of  mica  mining,  and  after  stating  that  he  was  a 
Georgian,  and  had  been  in  the  mountains  only  a  few  years,  he 
related  a  thrilling  story,  which  I  will  give  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  his  own  words,  and  call  it 


296  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

THE    HAUNTED    CABIN. 

On  one  of  the  highest  ridges  of  the  Nantihala  mountains, 
twenty-five  miles  from  Franklin,  Tabal  and  I  had  been  out 
prospecting  formica  for  several  days.  With  a  blanket  apiece, 
a  pick,  a  spade  and  a  quantity  of  provisions  we  had  left  the 
valley,  intending  to  open  a  spot  on  the  mountain,  where  mica 
had  been  discovered  cropping  out.  All  the  afternoon  of  the 
26th  of  February,  and  all  day  of  the  27th,  we  worked  at  the 
surface  mica,  and  had  followed  a  promising  vein  of  the  mineral 
for  several  feet  into  the  crumbling  rock.  The  weather  had 
been  fine,  and  the  night  of  the  last  mentioned  date  came  on 
with  fair  and  clear  skies.  Wrapped  in  our  blankets,  we  slept 
by  a  roaring  fire,  under  a  shelving  rock,  in  a  thicket  of  black 
firs.  By  morning  the. weather  had  changed;  a  cold  wet  wind 
was  sighing  through  the  pines;  the  sky  was  overcast  with  dull 
heavy  clouds,  and  the  last  day  of  February  bid  fair  to  end  in  a 
snow  storm. 

Tabal  was  rather  uneasy,  and  wished  to  start  for  the  settle- 
ment immediately ;  but  with  a  nicely  sorted-out  pile  of  mica  at 
our  feet,  and  a  solid  block  twelve  inches  square  shining  from 
the  bottom  of  the  excavation,  I  insisted  on  remaining  until 
there  was  a  decided  change  for  the  better  or  worse  ;  so,  after 
our  morning  repast,  we  went  steadily  to  work  again. 

We  did  not  notice  the  increasing  coldness  of  the  wind,  and 
were  only  awakened  to  a  sense  of  our  dangerous  position,  when 
snow  began  to  fall.  To  be  caught  on  a  mountain  summit  over 
6,000  feet  high  in  a  snow  storm  was  something  little  to  be 
desired  ;  and,  with  that  idea,  Tabal  threw  down  his  pick  and 
proposed  starting  with  haste  for  the  settlement  Affairs  did 
look  threatening,  and  I  concluded  that  his  proposition  was  not 
to  b%  despised.  Hiding  our  tools  and  mica,  with  our  blankets 
over  our  shoulders,  we  struck  out  on  the  trail  for  the  valley. 

The  snow  fell  thicker   and   faster  around  us  ;    and  at  the  end 


A   Welcome  Shelter.  2gJ 

of  our  first  mile  it  was  an  inch  deep.  The  way-worn  path 
beneath  our  feet  was  of  the  same  appearance  as  the  forest  slopes, 
all  seeming  one  open  wilderness,  with  nothing  but  occasional 
blazes  on  the  scrub-oak  tree  trunks  to  mark  the  path  of  descent. 
Tabal  needed  nothing  of  the  kind  to  find  his  way.  So  familiar 
is  he  with  the  whole  range  that,  in  the  darkest  night  he  could 
reach  the  valley  without  a  wandering  footstep.  After  two 
hours  of  slow  travel  the  snow  lay  shoe-mouth  deep,  and  the 
bitter  wind,  as  it  swept  across  the  ridges,  chilled  and  buffeted 
us,  until,  half  frozen,  with  wet  and  benumbed  feet,  exhausted 
by  ten  miles  of  wading,  and  bruised  by  falls  and  slides,  I  felt 
my  strength  giving  way.  It  was  then  half-past  four  by  my 
watch  ;  the  snow  was  a  foot  in  depth,  and  still  falling. 

"Only  three  mile  further,"  said  my  companion,  when  he 
noticed  how  I  was  lagging  in  my  pace,  "and  we'll  fetch  up  at 
Ramear's  cabin.  Cheer  up,  man,  an'  in  a  few  minutes  we'll  be 
all  right,  I  'low." 

With  this  encouragement  I  quickened  my  footsteps  and 
struggled  on.  Another  mile  had  been  slowly  reeled  out  behind 
us  ;  we  had  left  the  ridge  and  were  in  a  hollow  or  cove,  when  a 
cabin  suddenly  appeared  before  us. 

The  place  was  one  of  the  wildest  and  dreariest  of  the  moun- 
tains. On  one  side  rose  a  forest  of  balsams,  with  somber 
foliage  covered  with  the  white  mantle  of  the  storm  ;  almost 
perpendicularly  upward  it  trended.  Tangled  laurel  spread  over 
the  bottom  land,  and  interwoven  with  the  ivy,  hedged  the 
banks  of  a  stream  fresh  from  its  sources.  On  the  other  side  a 
rocky  bluff,  crowned  with  snow  and  clad  in  evergreen  vines, 
loomed  up  like  the  crumbling  wall  of  some  ancient  castle,  with 
its  summit  lost  in  the  veil  of  the  falling  snow. 

The  cabin  was  jammed  into  a  ntche  of  this  wall  some  twenty 
feet  above  the  path  we  were  following.  It  was  a  log  hut  of 
the  humblest  pretensions,  tottering  from  age  and  decay  on  its 


298  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

rock  foundation.  In  the  shadow  of  the  precipice,  most  gloomy 
it  appeared,  with  its  snow-burdened  roof,  moss-grown  front, 
rough-plastered  log  chimney,  and  doorless  entrance  opening 
into  a  black  interior.  It  looked  to  have  been  deserted  a  score 
or  more  of  years,  and  its  surroundings,  unkept  by  the  hand  of 
man,  by  Nature  were  again  being  trained  into  primitive  wildness. 
A  cataract  came  pouring  down  by  the  cabin's  site.  A  regular 
ascent  of  steps  led  up  to  it  through  the  laurel. 

In  spite  of  the  place's  uninviting  aspect,  I  welcomed  it  as  a 
safe  refuge  from  the  storm  and  the  night.  Tabal  seemed  not 
to  see  it,  and  was  plodding  steadily  ahead  a  few  feet  in  advance 
of  me. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  I  called.  "  Here  is  a  shelter  for  the  night.  No 
need  of  going  further." 

He  turned  with  a  strange  expression  in  his  face. 

"For  God  sake,  don't  stop  hyar !  We  must  go  on.  Noth- 
in'  could  hire  me  to  stop  in  thet  'air  shell." 

His  set  determined  way  of  speaking,  together  with  his 
words,  I  could  not  at  that  time  account  for,  and  without  wait- 
ing for  an  explanation,  replied :  ' '  Stop  here  we  must,  in 
half  an  hour  'twill  be  night,"  and  pushing  through  the  snow- 
burdened  laurel,  in  a  few  steps  I  gained  the  cabin  door. 

A  violent  hand  was  laid  on  my  shoulder  that  instant.  My 
blanket  was  almost  torn  from  my  grasp,  and  I  reeled  backward, 
with  difficulty  rescuing  myself  from  falling. 

It  was  Tabal  who  had  thus  struck  me.  Taken  by  surprise  at 
his  uncalled-for  action,  I  could  but  listen  to  what  he  said. 

"Come,  come,  we  must  make  tracks  from  this  place!  You'd 
better  die  in  the  snow  a  peaceful  death  than  be  toted  away  by 
hants.  Thar  be  a  power  'o  Hants  hyar.  I've  seed  'em  an' 
seed  blood,  blood !  on  the  floor ;  and  nary  man  in  the  settle- 
ment but  what's  heerd  'em.  Don't  for  all  ye  love  in  the  world, 


Defying  "Hants."  299 

don't  stop  hyar,  but  foller  me  and  in  two  mile  we'll  be  at 
Ramear's." 

As  he  finished  his  excited  remarks,  with  one  hand  still  on 
my  shoulder,  he  was  standing  partly  in  the  cabin  ;  while  I,  puz- 
zled at  his  extraordinary  statement,  and  with  the  earnest, 
almost  desperate,  manner  in  which  he  urged  me  to  leave  the 
spot,  had  sunk  down  on  a  half-rotten  log  that  lay  across  the 
doorway.  I  really  could  have  gone  no  further  if  I  had  wished, 
and  instead  of  what  I  had  heard  from  him  awakening  my  fears 
and  strengthening  me  to  travel 'on,  it  aroused  my  curiosity  to 
remain  and  see  upon  what  his  superstition  was  based. 

On  making  known  to  him  my  exhausted  condition  and  deter- 
mination to  remain,  an  abject  terror  overspread  the  mountain- 
eer's face,  and  for  several  minutes  there  was  a  struggle  within  him 
whether  to  stay  and  brave  the  well  known  horrors  of  the  place, 
or  to  expose  his  cowardice  by  leaving  and  pushing  on  alone  in 
the  darkness  and  driving  snow.  The  latter  alternative  did  not 
hold  out  very  bright  prospects,  and  in  spite  of  professed  super- 
stition, mountaineers  dread  nothing  much  more  than  being 
called  cowards.  Meanwhile  I  laughed  down  and  shamed  his 
fears,  and  the  bribe  of  a  half  gallon  of  "moonshine"  completed 
the  business. 

The  gloom  of  the  continuing  storm,  and  the  rapidly  approach- 
ing night,  rendered  the  gorge  almost  destitute  of  light.  Every 
minute  it  grew  darker,  but  objects  about  the  interior  of  the 
cabin  were  still  distinguishable.  There  was  but  one  room,  with 
rotten  board  floor,  strewed  with  the  mouldering  leaves  of  sev- 
eral autumns,  and  grown  with  moss  along  the  edges  of  the 
walls.  Fungi  choked  the  interstices  between  the  logs,  and  over 
them  snow  had  sifted,  and  fallen  in  streaks  upon  the  floor.  An 
unboarded  window  opposite  to  the  solitary  door  looked  out 
upon  the  grim,  stony  cliff  that  rose  not  ten  feet  away.  A  fire- 
place, filled  with  snow,  was  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and  over 


300  Beyond  Iron  Ways, 

three-fourths  of  the  apartment  was  a  loft,  rather  shaky  in  ap- 
pearance. 

We  scraped  the  snow  from  the  hearth ;  Tabal,  under  my  in- 
structions, tore  off  a  pile  of  well-seasoned  boards  from  the  loft 
floor,  and  soon  a  crackling  fire  brightened  and  cheered  the  in- 
terior of  the  cabin.  My  companion  was  now  more  at  his  ease, 
and  spreading  our  blankets,  we  laid  down  with  our  feet  to  the 
grateful  fire. 

As  I  spread  out  my  blanket  I  noticed  a  pool  of  fresh  blood, 
fully  two  feet  in  diameter  on  the  floor  by  my  hand.  I  covered 
it  instantly,  fearful  that  Tabal  might  see  it.  How  did  it  come 
there  ? 

''Tabal,"  I  said,  "tell  me  now  what  you  meant  by  this  hut 
having  ghosts  or  '  hants '  as  you  term  them ;  and  why  do  you 
think  it  so  haunted?" 

He  responded  with  a  long  story  which  I  will  make  short: 
The  cove  had  been  cleared  thirty  years  before  by  Cummings,  a 
denizen  of  the  mountains.  One  night  when  he  was  on  a  spree 
in  the  settlement,  his  wife,  in  a  crazy  fit,  hung  herself  to  a  cabin 
rafter.  Cummings,  with  his  household  property  and  progeny, 
deserted  the  premises,  and  for  many  years  the  cabin  remained 
unoccupied,  until  a  party  of  hunters  made  a  night's  lodging 
there,  and  in  an  altercation  a  man  named  Gil  True  was  instantly 
killed  by  an  enraged  companion.  Strange  sights  and  sounds 
were  connected  with  it  after  the  first  death,  and  more  after  the 
second.  Every  superstitious  old  woman  told  some  terrible  tale 
about  it,  until  it  had  become  known  throughout  the  country  as 
the  "haunted"  cabin. 

After  this  narrative  the  train  of  thoughts  which  it  awakened 
and  the  strangeness  of  my  situation  prevented  me  from  going 
immediately  to  sleep,  and  hours  elapsed  before  I  was  in  the 
arms  of  "  Nature's  fond  nurse."  Tabal's  regular  snoring  I  sup- 
pose put  me  in  that  condition. 


Supernatural  Occurrences.  301 

How  long  I  slept  I  know  not,  but  I  awoke  with  a  start. 
Terrible,  blood-curdling  cries,  like  those  from  a  woman  or 
child  in  distress,  came  from  the  end  of  the  room  opposite 
the  chimney. 

The  fire  was  still  blazing,  and  by  it  I  saw  that  Tabal  was 
awake,  lying  half  raised  from  his  blanket,  and  with  eyes  fixed 
on  the  back  of  the  room,  was  intent  on  listening.  Several 
piercing  cries,  with  intervals  between,  rang  out,  and  the  last 
one  had  just  died  down,  when  there  was  a  sound  of  some  heavy 
body  falling  on  the  roof,  a  rumble,  then  a  terrific  crash,  after 
which  all  was  darkness,  blackest  darkness  in  the  room. 

Successive  creakings  of  the  cabin,  and  sputterings  and  hiss- 
ings from  the  fire-place  ensued. 

I  attempted  to  call  out  but  could  not. 

I  leaned  over  and  reached,  in  the  darkness,  for  my  companion. 
He  was  not  there — nowhere  on  his  blanket,  which  I  felt  still 
unrolled.  I  groped  around  the  room. 

Nothing  ! 

The  room  was  deserted,  and  I  was  alone  in  the  haunted  cabin. 

\  leaned  out  of  the  door.  It  was  as  black  outside  as  in. 
Again  I  attempted  to  call,  and  then  my  voice  broke  from  me. 
The  halloo  rang  out,  echoed  along  the  cliff,  and  instantly 
seemed  swallowed  by  the  night  ;  but  no  answer  came. 

With  these  efforts  courage  returned,  and  I  stepped  back  into 
the  center  of  the  apartment.  As  I  did  so,  I  heard  a  fall  on  the 
window,  then  one  on  the  floor,  and  the  pit-pat  of  feet  sounded 
plainly  as  something  .brushed  against  my  legs,  and  shot  with 
sudden  velocity  out  of  the  cabin  door. 

"  What  else,"  I  thought  ;  "  what  other  unaccountable  things 
were  to  happen?  Tabal  was  right;  the  cabin  is  haunted." 

I  drew  out  a  large  clasp-knife  from  my  pocket,  opened  it,  and 
retreated  to  one  corner  of  the  room.  I  stirred  not,  scarcely 
breathed.  For  hours  I  stood  there,  as  rigid  as  a  statute.  Again 


3O2  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

the  foot-falls  resounded  through  the  room  ;  again  a  fall  on  the 
window  by  the  cliff — then  death-like  stillness  again  intervened. 

In  the  black,  unbroken  silence,  I  heard  nothing  but  the  ac- 
tion of  my  heart,  thumping,  thumping,  till  it  seemed  it  would 
beat  the  breath  from  my  chest,  and  all  the  while  I  was,  in  vain, 
seeking  a  solution  for  these  mysteries  of  the  night.  Where  was 
Tabal  ?  What  caused  the  blood  spots,  the  horrible  cries,  the 
crash,  the  fire's  extinguishment,  and  the  foot-falls  ?" 

Gray  light  began  to  sift  in.  It  grew  stronger,  brighter,  and 
the  light  of  morning  filled  the  room.  Black  objects  assumed 
regular  outlines,  became  distinct,  regained  their  natural  shapes, 
and  everything  around  me  was  revealed.  There  lay  the  tum- 
bled blankets;  the  fire-place  filled  a  foot  high  with  snow.  I 
started.  The  crash  and  following  darkness  were  explained.  A 
snow  slide  off  the  cliff  had  struck  the  roof  and  then  fallen  down 
the  chimney. 

I  went  to  the  door.  A  man's  footprints  long  and  far  be- 
tween, led  from  the  door-step  down  through  the  laurel.  Tabal 
had  disappeared  in  that  direction.  I  expected  to  see  footprints 
besides  those  of  the  mountaineer, — the  footprints  of  the  owner 
of  the  footfalls  in  the  night, — but  none  were  there,  at  least,  no 
human  tracks,  but,  instead,  in  the  snow  were  prints  like  those 
of  a  dog.  What  did  this  mean  ? 

I  ran  to  the  window.  The  same  impressions  were  on  the 
snow-covered  sill,  and  then  beyond  on  the  near  ledge  of  the 
cliff.  Some  animal  had  entered  by  the  window,  rushed  through 
the  cabin,  and  then  re-entering,  had  retreated  by  the  same  way 
to  the  cliff.  That  it  was  a  wild-cat  or  panther  I  was  convinced; 
and  this  conviction  was  strengthened  when  my  mind  reverted 
to  the  cries,  which  were  similar  to  those  made  by  the  cat 
species. 

The  whole  mystery  seemed  cleared  up.  The  wild,  rugged 
precipice  held  on  its  face  a  den  of  panthers ;  the  cabin  was 


A  Panther  Hunt.  303 

another  retreat  of  theirs,  and  the  bloody  pool  on  the  floor  was 
the  mark  of  some  recent  feast. 

Gathering  up  the  blankets  I  followed  in  Tabal's  footprints  for 
half  a  mile,  when  I  met  him  coming  towards  me  with  the  set- 
tler he  had  remained  with  during  a  part  of  the  previous  night. 
My  appearance  to  him  was  like  one  raised  from  the  dead.  We 
returned  to  the  cabin,  and  my  conclusions  were  confirmed  by 
their  immediate  affirmations  that,  "  nairy  varmint  but  a  painter 
hed  made  them  tracks,  an'  they  'lowed  the  cabin  m ought  not 
be  hanted  arter  all." 

Soon  after  this  night's  adventure,  a  systematic  hunt  was 
organized;  and  in  the  chase  four  panthers  which  had  had  their 
hereditary  den  in  the  cliff's  face  were  killed.  With  this  slaugh- 
ter all  reasonable  fears  of  the  cabin's  being  haunted  vanished, 
and  now  it  is  made  the  usual  rendezvous  for  hunters  driving 
bears  or  deer  in  that  locality.  . 


"Wai,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  Federal  court  witnesses, 
"thet's  a  blamed  good  way  to  git  red  o'  hants  !  " 

"Now,"  said  Upson,  directing  his  speech  toward  me,  "we 
would  like  to  hear  from  you." 

"I  have  no  personal  experience  to  relate,"  I  replied,  "but 
can  tell  you  something,  similar  in  nature  to  your  story,  as  it 
was  told  me  by  an  old  resident  of  Graham  county." 

Immediately  there  was  a  hearty  invitation  extended  me  to 
begin  ;  so  without  ceremony  I  preluded  what  follows  with  the 
announcement  that  the  tale  was  the  one  of 

THE    PHANTOM    MILLERS. 

Three  years  ago,  while  taking  a  tramp  through  the  wilderness 
of  the  Santeetlah  and  Unaka  mountains,  I  stopped  for  a  few 
days  with  an  intelligent,  elderly  farmer  on  the  bank  of  Cheowah 
river.  One  pleasant  afternoon,  during  the  time  of  my  visit,  I 
took  a  ramble  with  my  host  over  his  extensive  farm.  Through 


304  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

the  cool  woods,  upward  along  the  roaring  stream,  we  slowly 
walked  for  probably  half  a  mile,  when  suddenly  the  rough 
wagon-trail  we  were  following  led  away  from  the  river;  and,  look- 
ing through  the  thick  undergrowth  in  the  direction  where  with 
redoubled  roar  the  waters  still  kept  their  way,  I  saw  the  out- 
lines of  an  old  building. 

"What  ancient  looking  structure  is  that?"  I  asked,  pointing 
toward  it. 

"That,"  my  companion  answered,  "is  a  worn  out  mill." 

"Why,"  I  returned,  "this  is  the  first  mill  I  have  noticed  on 
the  river.  It  does,  in  fact,  appear  dilapidated  ;  but,  looking  at 
the  heavy  thickets  and  tall  trees  that  stand  so  close  to  it,  I 
should  think  that  at  the  time  it  was  abandoned  it  might  have 
been  in  pretty  good  condition.  See,  there's  a  tree  apparently 
fifteen  years  old  thrusting  its  whole  top  through  a  window,  and 
the  casements  that  are  around  it  are  not  yet  rotted  away." 

"You  are  a  close  observer, "  said  Mr.  Staley,  "but,  never- 
theless, we  quit  running  that  mill  because  it  couldn't  be  worked." 

"Why  so?"  I  asked  with  interest. 

"Because  it  was  haunted!" 

"Haunted!     A  haunted  mill !  " 

"Yes,  sir;  the  subject  is  one  I  don't  like  to  commence  on, 
but  I  suppose  now  you  must  hear  it." 

"  Yes,  by  all  means,  but  wait  first  till  I  see  the  mill." 

I  pushed  through  the  tangled  thickets  under  the  scrubby 
oaks,  and  a  minute  after  stood  before  the  structure.  It  was  a 
mill  which  even  at  this  date  would,  if  new,  have  been  suited  to 
a  more  open  country.  The  side  that  faced  us  was  farthest  from 
the  river.  One  door,  up  to  which  rotten  steps  led,  and  two 
windows,  through  one  of  which  the  tree  before  mentioned, 
spread  its  heavy  limbs,  were  on  the  front.  The  siding  was  fall- 
ing and  hanging  loosely  in  places  from  the  upright  timbers,  and 
the  entire  structure  was  fast  becoming  a  skeleton,  for  all  the 


Over  the  Green,  Rotten  Mill  Wheel.  305 

clapboards  had  been  torn  by  the  wind  or  thievish  hands  from 
the  three  remaining  sides.  The  roof,  in  part,  had  fallen  in,  but 
had  been  caught  by  the  shaky  stringers  of  the  upper,  half-story 
floor.  The  spot  on  the  river  bank  was  peculiarly  suited  for  a 
mill  site.  The  channel  of  the  stream  above  was  rock  bound, 
the  banks  being  steep  and  narrow.  Just  before  it  reached  the 
mill  the  body  of  waters  compressed  into  an  impetuous  volume, 
shot  over  a  fall  of  twenty  feet.  An  outlet  had  been  blasted 
through  the  solid  rock  close  by  the  side  of  the  fall,  and  a 
wooden  race  set  up  leading  to  the  mill.  This  race  had  long 
since  disappeared,  worn  away  by  time  and  water.  The  old 
wheel,  though,  hung  in  its  place  beside  the  structure  almost 
under  the  fall,  and  above  the  mad  waters,  boiling  and  foaming 
below. 

•  Going  around  to  one  of  the  sides,  we  managed  to  clamber  in 
and  on  the  plank  floor.  There  was  half  a  partition  through 
the  center,  forming  on  either  side  two  rooms,  each  about 
20x25  feet  in  dimensions.  The  mill-stones  were  yet  in  place, 
but  the  hopper  and  grain  bins  were  missing. 

We  seated  ourselves  on  the  floor  at  the  back  side  of  the  build- 
ing, and  with  our  feet  hanging  over  the  green,  rotten  wheel, 
with  the  thin  spray  of  the  cataract  now  and  then  touching  us, 
and  the  turbulent  river  sweeping  onward  below,  he  began  as 
follows : 

"When  I  came  here  from  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  and 
settled,  in  the  spring  of  184-,  the  first  thing  I  found  necessary, 
after  building  my  house,  was  a  mill.  As  many  families,  appar- 
ently, lived  in  these  valleys  then  as  live  here  now.  I  was  com- 
pelled to  go  to  Murphy,  a  distance  of  eighteen  miles,  to  get 
my  flour  and  meal,  or  take  my  grain  to  a  primitive  hopper,  two 
miles  below  on  this  river,  and  wait  a  day  for  it  to  grind  a  bushel. 
Either  was  an  exasperating  procedure.  This  site  seemed  the 
best  adapted  one  along  the  river.  The  race  was  formed,  a 


306  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

foundation  laid,  and,  by  the  aid  of  a  temporary  saw,  enough 
lumber  was  gotten  out  to  finish  this  mill  complete  by  the  fol- 
lowing summer. 

"Well,  time  went  by;  the  mill  run  smoothly,  and  with  it  I 
managed  to  make  enough  to  keep  my  family.  One  morning, 
however,  on  entering  here  I  saw  that  the  wheel,  which  I  left 
running  for  the  night,  in  order  to  grind  out  an  extra  amount  of 
meal,  had  stopped,  while  the  water  was  still  pouring  on  it.  On 
examination  I  found  the  dead  body  of  a  young  man,  a  farmer, 
who  lived  on  the  slope  of  Deer  mountain,  hanging  fastened  to 
the  lowest  paddle  of  the  wheel.  All  that  could  be  learned  of 
his  untimely  end  was  that  he  had  left  home  for  an  evening's 
trout-fishing  the  day  before.  He  had  undoubtedly  fallen  into 
the  deep,  swift  stream  above ;  .had  been  drowned ;  swept  through 
the  race  down  on  to  the  wheel ;  and,  his  clothes  catching  on  the 
splintered  paddle,  he  had  hung  there. 

"A  short  time  after  the  last  sad  occurrence,  a  neighbor's 
boy  fell  through  the  trap  door  and  broke  his  neck.  Supersti- 
tious people  then  began  to  whisper  that  a  spell  was  on 
the  place.  They  had  had,  as  yet,  no  ocular  demonstration 
of  what  they  imagined  and  reported,  but  such  was  the 
influence  that  my  mill  was  avoided  at  night,  travelers  beating  a 
new  path  around  it  through  the  forest.  Of  course,  this  talk 
had  no  effect  upon  me,  and  in  fact  I  rather  liked  it,  for,  as  far  as 
I  was  able  to  perceive,  it  kept  a  class  of  indigent  mountaineers 
away  from  the  mill,  whom  I  had  reason  before  to  suspect  of 
grinding  their  corn  surreptitiously  at  night. 

"But  in  the  spring  of  1861  something  really  strange  did 
occur.  My  youngest  brother  was  one  day  with  me  at  the  mill. 
I  had  left  him  inside  here  while  I  had  gone  some  distance  back 
into  the  woods  to  get  a  second-growth  hickory.  Probably  half 
an  ho  ur  had  passed  and  I  was  returning,  when  just  before  com- 
ing in  sight  of  the  mill  I  heard  angry  voices.  One  voice  was 


A  Night  of  Terror.  307 

that  of  my  brother,  the  other  I  could  not  recognize  ;  neither 
had  I  time  to  consider,  for  suddenly  the  report  of  a  fire-arm 
sounded  in  that  direction.  I  hallooed  loudly  at  the  moment  I 
heard  it,  and  at  the  same  time  came  out  of  the  wood.  A  com- 
paratively clear  space,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  large  trees, 
was  between  me  and  the  mill.  I  saw  no  one  near  but  my 
brother,  and  he  was  leaning  partly  out  the  front  window  there, 
where  now  grows  the  red  maple. 

"  '  Halloo  !  what  have  you  shot  ?'   I  shouted. 

"  There  was  no  answer. 

' '  The  day  was  growing  terribly  dark.  Black  clouds,  heavy 
with  moisture,  were  filling  and  piling  deep  the  entire  face  of 
the  sky  between  these  circling  mountains.  The  lightning  had 
not  yet  begun  to  play,  but  it  would  not  have  taken  a  prophet 
to  tell  of  its  speedy  coming. 

4 '  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at  hearing  no  return  to  my  salute ; 
and  as  I  drew  nearer  I  noticed  that  his  face  was  deadly  pale.  I 
ran  up  the  steps.  I  caught  hold  of  him.  He  had  fainted.  I 
.laid  him  in  the  doorway.  My  first  thought  was  that  he  had 
been  shot  by  some  one  and  was  in  a  death  faint.  I  tore  his  shirt 
open,  discovering  a  small  red  mark  under  the  nipple.  Five 
minutes  after  he  was  a  corpse.  But  where  was  he  who  fired 
the  fatal  shot?  I  had  seen  no  one,  and  in  vain  I  looked  around 
the  mill. 

"  Meanwhile  the  storm  burst  with  appalling  fury.  One  of 
the  first  flashes  of  lightning  struck  a  monarch  ash,  whose  decay- 
ing stump  stands  juSt  over  there,  not  thirty  feet  from  the  mill's 
front.  In  some  manner  it  struck  the  tree  and  ran  down  its 
bark,  then  cut  through  its  base,  or  struck  the  bole  at  once ; 
for  the  whole  body  of  the  ash  fell  with  a  resounding  crash.  I 
was  knocked  down  and  blinded  for  an  instant  by  the  electricity. 
It  was  the  hardest  rain  that  has  drenched  these  mountains  since 


308  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

1840.     All  night  long  it  continued,  and  I   remained  in  the  mill 
with  my  dead  brother. 

"It  must  have  been  past  midnight  when,  in  the  pitchy  dark- 
ness, I  heard  hoarse  cries,  hollow  shouts,  and  groans,  that 
seemed  to  proceed  from  without  the  mill,  •  but  which  swept 
through  the  open  rooms  with  chilling  and  horrible  earnestness. 
The  building  shook  in  the  wind  and  storm ;  the  doors  rattled 
on  their  hinges;  the  cataract's  roar  increased  with  the  swelling 
flood  ;  but  yet  above  all  these  deafening  sounds,  at  intervals, 
rang  this  muffled  voice.  I  must  confess  that  I  laid  it  to  the 
supernatural. 

"Morning  and  calm  came  together,  and  with  the  first  streaks 
of  light  two  of  my  farm-hands  appeared.  The  storm  had  made 
a  havoc  before  the  mill.  Lengthways,  and  down  the  center  of 
the  road  the  ash  had  fallen,  the  body  of  the  tree  lying  close 
against  the  base  of  that  great  hollow  oak  you  see  still  standing. 
We  carried  the  body  home.  Who  had  killed  him  was  the  un- 
answered question  on  every  one's  lips.  Well,  we  buried  the 
mysteriously  murdered  man  in  the  old  churchyard  down  the 
river,  and  the  day  after  I  went  on  business  to  Murphy.  As 
fortune  would  have  it  I  was  just  in  time  to  be  drafted  into  the 
Confederate  army.  I  had  only  a  day  to  spare  to  go  to  my 
house  and  return. 

"The  occurrences  of  that  stormy  night  had  unavoidably  kept 
me  away  from  the  mill,  and  on  my  flying  visit  home  be- 
fore taking  a  long  departure,  I  had  no  time  to  go  to  it.  My 
wife  told  a  strange  story  of  ghostly  cries,  strange  flames  and 
apparitions  which  had  been  heard  and  seen  at  the  mill  for  two 
nights  by  one  of  the  farm-hands  and  a  neighbor.  Nothing 
ccfuld  hire  any  of  the  men  in  the  neighborhood  to  go  near  the 
place,  even  in  the  daytime.  The  description  of  the  sounds 
coincided  singularly  with  what  I  had  heard.  Having  no  time 
to  investigate,  and  thinking  these  fears  would  wear  away,  I  left 


Watching  for  the  Apparitions.  309 

orders  for  one  of  the  hired  men  to  run  the  mill  during  my 
absence. 

"  Four  years  passed,  and  I  had  returned  from  the  war.  What 
changes  had  taken  place  is  not  my  intention  to  relate  only  to 
speak  of  the  mill.  The  fears  of  the  mountaineers  had  caused 
it  to  be  abandoned.  The  one  whom  I  had  designed  to  work  it 
had  wholly  disregarded  my  orders.  By  a  train  of  petty  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  this  man's  refusal  to  run  the  mill, 
together  with  the  superstitious  ideas  of  the  people,  all  the  moun- 
taineers began  to  take  their  grain  to  the  lower  "corn-cracker." 
This  course  was  not  adopted  by  all  until  several  of  the  more 
venturesome  ones  had  actual,  unexplainable  encounters  with 
ghosts  lit  my  mill. 

* '  A  few  days  after  my  return  I  went  up  to  look  at  the  for- 
saken place.  I  found  the  underbrush  rather  heavy,  fair-sized 
trees  springing  up,  the  old  ash  lying  undisturbed  where  it  had 
been  struck  down,  and  consequently  the  old  road  was  lost. 
Everything  within  the  mill,  though,  was  in  excellent  condition. 
What  struck  me  as  curious  was  that  the  mill  appeared  never  to 
have  stopped  running ;  for  the  stones  were  not  mossed  in  the 
least,  but  on  the  contrary  were  still  white  with  flour.  The 
floor  was  also  white,  and  a  close  observer  would  at  once  have 
declared  that  a  supply  of  wheat  had  been  ground  there  that 
week. 

"  ' Jist  so, '  said  an  old  neighbor  who  was  with  me.  'In 
course  these  hyar  stones  never  quit  runnin'  at  night,  ez  I  tole 
yer  ;  but  hit  ain't  no  humin  bein's  ez  runs  'em.  Many  a  night 
I've  cum  up  the  new  road  over  yander,  an'  stopped  an' shivered 
as  I  heered  the  ole  wheel  splashin'  round,  seed  lights  an'  seed 
yer  brother  standin'  right  hyar  at  this  winder,  I'll  swar  !  Why 
didn't  I  sarch  into  the  matter?  Didn't  I  though!  But  the 
hants  all  fled  when  I  cum  near,  and  nuthin'  but  an  owl  hooted 
overhead  ;  an'  one  night  I  war  knocked  flat  by  some  devil  un- 


3 IO  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

seen,  an'  next  thing  I  knowed  I  woke  up  a  mile  from  hyar.  Ye 
don't  catch  me  foolin'  round  sich  things.' 

"  He  went  on  to  tell  how  the  meal,  which  he  had  ground  in  the 
daytime,  had  made  persons  sick,  and  also  helped  to  stop  bus- 
iness. That  night  I  determined  to  watch  the  ghostly  millers 
in  their  midnight  toils.  A  man  named  Bun  volunteered  to  stay 
with  me.  Just  after  dark  we  came  up  here  and  ensconced  our- 
selves in  a  close  thicket  near  the  fall,  and  about  fifty  feet  from 
the  mill.  The  hours  passed  by  monotonously.  It  was  late  in 
the  night,  when  suddenly,  above  the  dull  roar  of  the  fall,  I 
heard  an  owl's  hoot  up  the  river  road.  This  would  not  have 
attracted  my  attention,  had  not  another  hoot  sounded  at  once 
from  down  the  road,  and  then  another  can4e  from  just  before  the 
mill.  Nothing  further  was  heard  to  these  calls,  which  I  deemed 
were  signals ;  but,  a  few  moments  after,  a  light  flared  up  in  the 
mill,  and  through  the  unbearded  side  we  saw  two  figures  in 
white  garments. 

"' Let's  steal  out  of  this,' whispered  Bun,  in  a  trembling 
voice.  '  Didn't  I  say  it  war  ha'nted?  ' 

"I  commanded  him  to  remain  silent  if  he  loved  his  life.  The 
wheel  was  started,  and  the  two  ghosts  began  to  pour  corn  from 
a  bag  into  the  hopper.  I  had  no  idea  that  they  were  anything 
but  living  men ;  but  the  light  was  faint.  Their  faces  were 
covered  with  some  white  substance,  and  I  failed  to  recognize 
them.  A  little  reason  began  to  creep  into  Bun's  superstitious 
brain.  We  crept  closer.  Then  we  saw  that  they  were  talking, 
and  their  voices  reached  us.  The  sounds  dazed  me,  and  I 
started  as  if  shot.  It  was  not  our  language  these  shadows  con- 
versed in ;  it  was  a  strange  tongue,  but  I  recognized  it.  It  was 
the  dialect  of  the  Cherokees ! 

Under  the  impulse  of  the  discovery,  I  leveled  my  rifle,  aimed 
the  barrel  in  the  darkness,  and  fired.  Both  millers  stopped  in 
their  work,  and  in  an  instant  an  intense  darkness  wrapped  the 


Light  on  the  Mysteries.  311 

scene,  followed  by  a  crashing  in  the  thickets  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  mill.  Several  owl  hoots  ensued,  then  all  was  silent. 
Having  no  means  of  procuring  a  light,  we  did  not  venture  to 
enter  the  mill  that  night,  but  quickly  found  our  way  home.  The 
next  morning  I  returned  here  at  an  early  hour.  A  bag  of  corn, 
some  ground  meal,  and  a  few  drops  of  blood  on  the  floor,  were 
what  I  discovered  in  the  grinding-room ;  these  were  enough  to 
convince  the  most  skeptical  of  the  mountaineers  of  the  truth 
of  what  Bun  and  I  related  of  our  night's  adventure. 

"The  conclusion  drawn  was  this:  A  settlement  of  half-civil- 
ized Cherokees  over  the  mountains,  being  in  need  of  a  mill, 
taking  advantage  of  £his  one  being  unused,  and  also  of  the 
mountaineers'  fears,  liad,  by  managing  to  play  the  role  of  spec- 
tres, secured  a  good  mill,  rental  free,  for  two  or  three  years. 

' '  My  shot  that  night,  together  with  a  sharp  watch  kept  up 
for  some  time,  during  which  we  fired,  on  two  occasions,  at 
parties  approaching  the  place  after  dark,  had  the  desired  effect, 
and  the  mill  was  run  no  more." 

* '  But  who  killed  your  brother  ?  What  were  the  cries  that 
you  heard  ?  And  why  was  the  mill,  after  you  discovered  who 
the  millers  were,  deserted?"  I  asked.  % 

"The  murder  remained  a  mystery  until  a  few  days  after  we 
drove  out  the  Indians.  The  discovery  occurred  in  this  way? 
I  determined  to  have  the  old  road  cleared  out  and  go  to  work- 
ing again.  The  fallen  ash  was  first  attacked.  As  we  rolled 
away  a  severed  part  of  it  from  before  the  hollow  in  that  oak, 
standing  there,  one  of  the  choppers  noticed  a  pair  of  boots  in 
the  rotten  wood  within  the  hollow.  He  pulled  them  out  and  a 
full  skeleton  was  dragged  with  them.  Part  of  the  clothes  was 
still  preserved  on  this  lately  securely-sepulchred  corpse.  A 
revolver  was  also  scraped  out  the  rubbish.  It  was  the  body  of 
a  man  who  had  disappeared  four  years  since,  as  believed  up  to 
that  time,  for  the  war. 


312  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

"Of  course,  I  had  no  doubt  but  he  was  the  murderer  of 
my  brother.  He  had  fired  the  shot ;  heard  my  rapid  approach, 
and,  knowing  that  to  step  from  behind  the  tree  would  reveal 
himself,  he  squeezed  up  into  the  hollow  trunk  of  the  old  oak. 
The  lightning  played  the  part  of  a  slow  executioner.  It  was 
probably  some  time  before  he  attempted  to  make  exit  from  his 
confinement.  His  endeavors,  of  course,  were  fruitless.  Then 
he  began  calling  in  his  terror  for  help.  These  were  the  cries  I 
heard  during  that  stormy  night.  Afterwards  he  probably  be- 
came unconscious  through  fright.  His  dreadful  cries  at  intervals 
for  a  few  days  were  what  startled  the  mountaineers,  who,  had 
they  been  less  superstitious,  might  have  rescued  him  from  a 
horrible  lingering  death.  His  motive  in  taking  the  life  of  my 
brother  remains  a  mystery. 

"This  revelation  sickened  me,  and  reviving,  as  it  did,  sad 
recollections,  I  had  the  men  stop  work  for  a  few  days.  In 
that  time  a  heavy  flood  aided  in  breaking  down  and  sweeping 
away  the  worn-out  race.  I  never  attempted  to  repair  it,  and 
the  old  mill  was  left  to  rot  and  molder  in  solitary  idleness." 

We  had  been  so  engaged  with  the  stories  that  the  rising 
of  the  wind  had  passed  unnoticed,  and  suddenly  a  few  rain 
drops  fell  upon  us  and  the  fire.  I  was  about  to  resume  my 
walk,  but  was  prevailed  upon  to  remain,  because  of  the  storm. 
It  began  pouring  in  a  few  minutes;  and,  crawling  with  two  of 
the  party  into  one  of  the  wagons,  in  spite  of  the  novelty  of  the 
situation,  I  enjoyed  a  sound  sleep  on  a  pile  of  herb  bags  and 
under  the  rain-beaten  wagon-cover. 

The  valley  watered  by  that  prong  of  Richland  creek,  which 
rises  in  the  balsams  of  the  Great  Divide  and  beech  groves  of 
Old  Bald,  is  one  of  great  beauty.  It  is  quite  narrow.  The 
stream  flows  through  its  center,  overhung  with  oaks,  buckeyes, 
beeches,  maples,  black  gums,  and  a  dozen  other  varieties  of 


Micadale.  313 

trees,  and  fringed  with  laurel,  ivy,  and  the  alder;  while  at 
intervals  cleared  land's  roll  back  to  the  mountains.  Lickstone, 
with  gentle  slope,  walls  it  on  one  side;  a  lofty  ridge  on  the 
other,  and  the  black  front  of  the  Balsams  shuts  off  at  its  south- 
ern end  all  communication  with  what  lies  beyond,  except  by  a 
steep  winding  trail  and  unfinished  dug  road  over  a  mountain 
5,786  feet  in  altitude.  The  road  along  the  creek's  bank,  up- 
ward from  the  place  of  nightly  encampments,  possesses  all  the 
charms  of  a  woodland  way.  At  places  the  umbrageous  branches 
of  monarch  trees  cross  themselves  overhead  ;  beautiful  vistas  of 
a  little  stream,  streaked  with  silver  rapids  and  losing  itself 
under  the  bending  laurels,  are  presented  at  every  turn ;  at  inter- 
vals, branch  roads  wind  away  into  some  mountain  cove ;  and 
here  and  there,  disappearing  into  leafy  coverts,  are  smooth- 
beaten  by-paths,  which  tell  of  a  log  school-house  back  in  the 
grove,  a  hill-side  meadow,  or  some  hidden  lonely  cabin.  Way- 
side log  cabins  and  a  few  frame  farm-houses,  all  widely  separated, 
are  occasionally  seen  ;  the  noise  from  a  sooty  blacksmith  shop 
attracts  attention  ;  a  weird  mill  rises  amid  the  chestnut  trees ; 
while  the  roar  of  waters  in  its  rotten  flume  awakes  the  land- 
scape. 

The  most  picturesque  location  for  a  house  in  this  valley,  is 
owned  and  dwelt  upon  by  W.  F.  Gleason,  at  present  United 
States  commissioner  for  a  portion  of  the  western  district.  It  is 
an  old  homestead  site  on  the  round  top  of  a  little  hill,  which 
forms  a  step,  as  it  were,  to  the  wooded  mountain  ridge  tower- 
ing- above  it.  Before  the  front  of  the  dwelling,  100  yards  away, 
down  the  hill  and  across  a  level  strip  of  land,  runs  the  Richland 
around  the  edge  of  a  chestnut  grove  which  springs  on  its  oppo- 
site bank.  Through  the  shady  grove,  beyond  the  rivulet 
bridges,  is  the  Richland  road,  up  which  the  traveler  will  come, 
and  (unless  he  notices  the  branch  path  and  turns  under  the 
trees)  which  he  will  follow  through  woodland  scenery  like  that 


314  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

described.  From  the  door-yard  of  the  commissioner's  unpre- 
tentious dwelling,  a  mountain-walled  picture  is  presented.  Old 
Bald,  the  Balsams,  Lickstone,  Wild  Cat,  Wolf's  Pen,  and  the 
ridge  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  whose  highest  point  is  the  Pin- 
nacle, bend  around  the  valley  like  the  ragged-brimmed  sides  of 
a  bowl  with  one  rather  deeply  broken  nick  in  the  rim  through 
which  are  visible  the  purple  fronts  of  the  Haywood  mountains. 
The  valley  view  is  too  confined  to  be  interesting,  and  only  one 
cabin,  the  indistinct  outlines  of  an  old  farm-house,  and  a  few 
acres  of  cleared  land  amid  the  forests,  are  to  be  seen.  It  was 
at  this  sequestered  country  home  where,  for  several  seasons 
while  sojourning  in  the  Alleghanies,  we  made  our  head-quarters. 
Of  the  gorgeous  sun-rises  over  Lickstone,  witnessed  by  us  from 
the  low  porch  of  the  cottage ;  of  the  full-moon  ascents  above 
the  night-darkened  rim  of  the  same  mountain, — we  might  write 
with  enthusiasm,  but  with  perhaps  too  tedious  detail  for  the 
reader. 

During  one  of  these  sojourns,  we  roomed  in  an  old  frame 
house  in  the  valley,  distant  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
hill-side  place  just  described.  In  the  early  October  mornings, 
our  way  when  going  to  breakfast,  was  along  a  beaten  path 
through  the  chestnut  grove,  where  the  ground  would  be  cov- 
ered with  nuts  larger  than  any  which  ever  find  their  way  to  the 
market.  Those  short  walks  in  the  bright,  clear  mornings  are 
indelibly  stamped  in  memory.  Again  the  creaking,  wood- 
latched  gate  of  the  unpainted  mansion  closes  with  a  rattle;  the 
great  piles  of  waste  mica  around  the  shops  gleam  in  the  sun- 
shine ;  the  birds  twitter  in  the  green  vines  so  heavily  clustered 
in  the  buckeyes  that  the  limbs  of  contiguous  trees  meeting, 
form  overhead  rich  arbors  for  the  passers  beneath ;  the  rough 
planks  of  the  bridge  across  one  smooth  branch  of  the  stream 
shake  under  our  footsteps ;  the  chestnut  woods,  turning  yellow, 
drop  their  dry  burrs  in  our  path ;  the  two  long,  hewn-top  logs, 


Lickstone,  Old  Bald,  and  Soco  Falls.  31$ 

with  their  crooked  hand-rail,  bridging  one  of  the  maddest  and 
most  musical  of  mountain  streams,  tremble  as  we  run  across 
them ;  the  bordering  alders  sparkle  with  dew-drops ;  the  frame 
farm-yard  gate  stands  shut  before  us.  Over  this  we  leap  and  go 
chasing  up  the  hill.  If  the  family  is  still  slumbering,  a  gun  is 
taken  from  its  stand  beside  the  chimney ;  a  whistle  given  for  a 
dog,  whose  quick  appearance,  bright  eyes,  and  wagging  tail 
show  his  pleasure ;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  black-berry 
thickets  are  beaten,  until  before  the  yelping  dog  a  shivering 
rabbit  bounds  out  in  sight,  whose  race  is  perhaps  ended  rather 
abruptly 

For  mountain  parties  both  Lickstone  and  Old  Bald  offer  ex- 
ceptional attractions.  The  ascent  of  the  latter  peak  and  the 
character  of  the  views  from  its  summit  are  described  in  the 
sketch  on  bear  hunting.  t  Lickstone  can  be  easily  ascended  on 
foot  or  on  horse-back,  and  is  admirably  situated  for  the  observer 
to  bring  within  his  ken  the  most  prominent  peaks  of  eight  sur- 
rounding counties,  and  see  unrolled  below  him  a  mountain- 
bounded  landscape  of  beauty  and  grandeur  beyond  the  power 
of  delineation  by  poet  or  painter.  Lickstone  takes  its  curious 
name  from  a  huge  flat  rock  near  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
whereon  the  cattle-herders  used  formerly  to  place  the  salt 
brought  by  them  to  the  stock  which  range  the  summit  mead- 
ows. On  the  east  slope  are  located  valuable  mica  mines. 

An  interesting  day's  journey,  from  Waynesville,  is  to  and 
from  Soco  Falls.  The  road  can  be  traveled  over  by  carraige, 
and  leads-  up  Jonathan's  creek  to  its  source.  The  falls  are  on 
the  distant  slope  of  the  mountain,  sixteen  miles  from  the  vil- 
lage. The  headwaters  of  the  Soco  rise  in  a  dark  wilderness.  At 
the  principal  fall,  two  prongs  of  the  stream,  coming  from  dif- 
ferent directions,  unite  their  foaming  waters  by  first  leaping 
over  a  series  of  rocky  ledges,  arranged  like  a  stairway.  Into 
a  boiling  basin,  fifty  feet  below,  the  stream  whirls  and  eddies 


Beyond  Iron  Ways. 
around,  and  then,  with  renewed  impetuosity,  rushes  down  the 


gradual   descent  to  the 
ley.      By  following  down  the 
road,  the  traveler   will  soon 
find  himself   in    the    Indian 
reservation. 

One  mile  from  Waynes- 
ville,  on  the  state  road  to- 
ward Webster,  is  a  level  and 
well-cultivated  farm  of  about 
one  hundred  acres,  forming 
a  portion  of  the  wide,  cleared 
valley  between  the  base  of 


THE    JUNALUSKAS. 


the    hills,    on    one    side,    and    the    wood-fringed    Richland    on 
the  other.      It   is   the  property    of   Sanborn   and    Mears,   two 


Westward,  Ho!  317 

young  men  who  have  lately  moved  into  the  mountains.  With 
enlarged  ideas  on  farming,  they  are  bringing  the  naturally  rich 
soil  into  a  state  of  perfection  for  grain  and  grazing.  A  cheery, 
comfortable  farm-house  stands  under  the  door-yard  trees  beside 
the  driveway.  Behind  the  house  the  ground  rises  gradually  to 
the  oak  woods  along  the  summit  of  the  hill.  In  the  front,  vis- 
ible from  the  doorway,  is  a  wide-sweeping  mountain  prospect. 
The  valley,  broad,  open,  level,  diversified  with  farms  and  for- 
ests, crossed  by  winding  fences  and  roads  hidden  by  green 
hedges,  extends  away  for  two  miles  or  more,  to  the  steep 
ronts  of  lofty  mountains.  It  is  these  mountains  which  so  en- 
hance the  picture,  giving  it,  morning  and  evening,  soft  shad- 
ows, sunlight  intensified  by  shooting  through  the  gap  between 
the  Junaluskas  and  Mount  Serbal,  and  a  peaceful,  pleasing 
slumber,  like  that  of  a  noble  grayhound  at  the  feet  of  his 
trusted  master.  A  portion  of  this  prospect  is  given  in  the 
accompanying  illustration. 

From  Waynesville  to  Webster,  twenty  miles  distant,  there 
was  no  regular  hack  or  stage  line  running  in  1882,  but  either 
saddle-horses  or  carriages  can  be  obtained  at  reasonable  rates  in 
Waynesville.  There  are  no  scenes  along  the  route  that  the 
traveler  would  be  likely  to  retain  in  memory.  Hills,  moun- 
tains, woods,  and  farms  fill  up  the  way,  with  no  particularly 
striking  features.  Dr.  Robert  Welch's  farm,  about  two  miles 
from  the  village,  is  one  which  will  not  be  passed  unnoticed. 
The  large,  white  residence,  white  flouring  mill  opposite,  high 
solid  fences  formed  from  rocks  picked  from  the  roads  and  fields, 
and  level  lands  of  several  hundred  acres,  make  up  a  pleasant 
homestead. 

Webster  is  an  antiquated  village,  on  the  summit  of  a  red  hill, 
silently  overlooking  the  Tuckasege  river.  It  has  a  .population 
of  about  200,  and  is  the  county-seat  of  a  large  and  fertile  sec- 
tion of  the  mountains.  About  forty-five  miles  south  of  the 


3 1 8  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

village,  by  the  way  of  the  river  road,  is  Highlands,  an  objective 
point  for  the  tourist.  East  La  Porte  is  one  of  the  points  passed 
on  the  river.  It  is  a  country  post,  with  two  stores,  a  school- 
house  or  academy,  and  a  few  houses.  The  academy,  resem- 
bling a  Tell  chapel,  is  situated  on  a  hill-top  in  a  bend  of  the 
Tuckasege.  As  this  structure  rises  from  the  forest-crowned 
hill,  around  whose  base  sweeps  the  sparkling  river,  with  a  line 
of  distant  mountains  for  its  back  ground,  it  is  extremely 
picturesque. 

The  road  up  Shoal  Creek  mountain,  on  the  way  to  Cashier's 
Valley  and  Highlands,  is  noted  for  its  wild  scenery.  Frail 
wooden  bridges  span  deep  ravines  echoing  with  the  roar  of 
waters ;  the  road  winds  at  times  around  the  steep  side  of  the 
wooded  mountain ;  then  again  it  dips  down  to  the  margin  of 
the  stream.  The  falls  of  Grassy  creek  are  close  in  full  view  at 
one  point.  The  water  of  this  stream  in  order  to  empty  into 
the  larger  stream,  flings  itself  over  a  perpendicular  cliff,  falling 
through  space  with  loud  roar  and  white  veil-like  form. 

The  stupendous  falls  of  the  Tuckasege  are  near  this  Shoal 
creek  road,  but  it  is  not  advisable  for  the  tourist  to  attempt  the 
tramp  to  them  by  this  wild  approach.  In  our  last  pilgrimage 
up  the  mountain  we  attempted  it.  A  few  incidents  which  oc- 
curred on  this  trip  may  prove  interesting  to  the  reader.  The 
artist  was  with  me.  Stopping  at  McCall's  lonely  cabin, 'we 
hired  a  twelve-year-old  boy  for  a  quarter  to  act  as  our  guide. 
The  day  was  uncomfortably  warm.  We  led  our  horses  up  a 
mile  ascent,  so  steep,  that  in  scaling  it  not  a  dry  spot  remained 
on  our  underclothes.  Then  we  tied  the  panting  animals  and 
walked  and  slid  down  a  mountain  side  whose  steepness  caused 
us  to  grow  pale  when  we  contemplated  the  return.  When  we 
reached  the  dizzy  edge  of  the  precipice  above  the  thundering 
cataract,  the  artist,  unused  to  so  arduous  a  journey,  was  in  such 
a  state  of  prostration,  that  he  could  not  hold  a  pencil  between 


Vicissitudes  of  Travel.  319 

his  thumb  and  fingers.  To  sketch  was  impossible;  to  breathe 
was  little  less  difficult  for  him.  We  rested  a  few  minutes,  view- 
ing from  above  the  mad  plunge  of  white  waters,  and  then,  with 
the  small  boy's  help,  I  carried,  pushed,  and  pulled  my  ex- 
hausted companion  up  the  ascent  to  the  horses.  How  many 
times  he  fell  prostrate  on  that  desolate  mountain  slope,  stretch- 
ing wide  his  arms  and  panting  like  a  man  in  his  last  agony,  we 
failed  to  keep  account  of. 

The  last  spoonfull  of  medicine  in  a  flask  taken  from  the  sad- 
dle-bags enabled  him  to  mount  his  horse,  and  we  rode  off 
around  a  flinty  mountain  with  warm  air  circling  through  the 
trees  and  the  hollow  voice  of  the  upper  falls  of  the  Tuckasege, 
seen  below  us  in  the  distance,  sounding  in  our  ears.  We 
dragged  our  horses  after  us  down  a  steep  declivity ;  passed  a 
muddy-looking  cabin ;  wended  through  a  deserted  farm  under 
an  untrimmed  orchard,  with  rotten  peaches  hanging  to  the 
limbs ;  startled  several  coveys  of  quails  from  the  rank  grass ; 
entered  a  green,  delicious  forest  alive  with  barking  gray  squir- 
rels; and  then,  through  several  rail  fences  and  troublesome 
gates,  reached  the  sandy  road  leading  into  Hamburg, — a  store 
with  a  post  office.  It  is  the  ancient  site  of  a  fort  of  that  name 
erected  for  use  in  case  of  Indian  depredations. 

Here  we  tried  to  get  something  to  more  fully  resuscitate  the 
still  trembling  artist,  but  everything  had  gone  dry ;  and  all  the 
encouragement  we  received  was  a  cordial  invitation,  from  a  man 
who  was  hauling  a  log  to  a  neighboring  saw-mill,  to  come  and 
spend  a  week  at  his  house,  and  he  would  have  a  keg  of  block- 
ade on  hand  for  us.  This  manner  of  the  mountaineers  of  invit- 
ing strangers  to  visit  them  is  illustrative  of  their  warm-hearted 
natures.  W.  N.  Heddin  was  the  logger  who  extended  this 
invitation.  I  had  met  him  once  before  while  on  a  tramp 
through  Rabun  county,  Georgia,  where  he  was  then  living.  A 
minute's  stop  at  his  house,  on  that  occasion  to  procure  a  drink 


320  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

of  water,  was  the  extent  of  our  acquaintance.  His  farm  was 
situated  at  the  base  of  a  frowning,  rocky  wall  called  Buzzard 
cliffs,  and  although  just  outside  the  North  Carolina  line  deserves 
some  mention,  because  of  certain  interest  connected  with  it. 
This  interest  is  gold. 

The  sand  in  the  beds  of  some  of  the  smooth-flowing  rivulets 
down  the  sultry  southern  slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge  have,  as 
regards  the  precious  mineral,  panned  out  well  in  the  past. 
Over  thirty  years  ago  the  stream  through  Heddin's  property 
was  discovered  to  contain  gold;  and  for  a  time,  as  he  related, 
was  worked  at  the  rate  of  ten  pennyweights  a  day  per  man. 
After  living  with  the  gold  fever  for  many  years,  he  lately  sold 
his  property,  and  removed  across  the  Blue  Ridge. 

Declining  Heddin's  proffered  hospitality  we  pushed  on,  grad- 
ually but  imperceptibly  ascending  the  Blue  Ridge.  I  was  rid- 
ing on  ahead.  Suddenly  my  companion  called  to  me. 

"Say,  I've  lost  my  overcoat." 

"Too  bad  !     Shall  we  return  and  search  for  it?" 

"No;  but  its  strange  how  I'm  loosing  everything." 

"Yes.  You  lost  your  pipe  yesterday;  your  breath  this 
morning,  and  now  it's  your  coat." 

"Just  so;  and  do  you  know,  I'm  getting  demoralized. 
Something  worse  is  going  to  happen.  Say  !  " 

"What?" 

"If  you  hear  anything  weighing  ar^out  one  hundred  and  ten 
pounds  fall  off  my  horse,  turn  and  come  back,  will  you?" 

"Yes.      Why?" 

"You'll  know  Fm  lost.     Hang  me,  but  I  feel  cut  up  ! " 

The  overcoat  was  not  recovered  by  its  owner ;  and  fortu- 
nately the  fall,  of  which  forewarning  had  been  given,  did  not 
occur. 

We  easily  ascended  the  Ridge.  Luxuriant  forests — perfect 
tropical  tangles — spread  over  the  last  portion  of  the  way.  A 


The  Hampton  Home.  321 

stream  with  water  the  color  of  a  pure  topaz  flows  under  the 
rich  green  rhododendron  hedges.  Down  the  slope  toward 
Cashier's  Valley  the  road  is  of  white  sand,  beaten  as  level  as  a 
floor.  A  drive*  in  easy  carriage  over  it  with  the  broad-sweeping 
limbs  of  the  cool  trees  overhead,  would  be  delightful.  These 
woods  were  filled  with  insects  termed  ' '  chatteracks "  by  the 
natives.  Their  shrill  chirping  toward  evening  is  much  louder 
than  the  noise  of  the  locust,  and  fairly  deafens  the  traveler. 
Locusts  also  joined  in  the  chorus,  giving  a  concert  as  melodious 
as  it  was  singular  and  primeval. 

Cashier's  Valley  is  a  mountain  plateau  of  the  Blue  Ridge, 
3,400  feet  in  altitude,  from  four  to  five  miles  long  and  a  mile 
and  a  half-  wide.  Attracted  by  its  climate,  freedom  from 
dampness,  its  utter  isolation  from  the  populated  haunts  of  man, 
the  rugged  character  of  its  scenery,  and  deer  and  bear  infested 
wildwoods,  years  since,  wealthy  planters  of  South  Carolina 
drifted  in  here  with  each  recurring  summer.  Now,  a  few 
homes  of  these  people  are  scattered  along  the  highland  roads. 
One  residence,  the  pleasant  summer  home  of  Colonel  Hamp- 
ton, the  earliest  settler  from  South  Carolina,  is  situated,  as  it 
appears  from  the  road,  in  the  gap  between  Chimney  Top  and 
Brown  mountain,  through  which,  twenty  miles  away,  can  be 
seen  a  range  of  purple  mountains.  A  grove  of  pines  surrounds 
the  house.  Governor  Hampton  formerly  spent  the  summers 
here,  engaged,  among  other  pastimes,  in  fishing  for  trout  along 
the  head  streams  of  the  Chatooga,  which  have  been  stocked 
with  this  fish  by  the  Hampton  family. 

The  sun  had  hidden  himself  behind  the  western  ranges,  but 
daylight  still  pervaded  the  landscape,  when  through  a  break  of 
the  forest  of  the  hill-side  around  which  the  road  winds,  we 
came  out  before  the  massive  front  of  a  peculiar  mountain. 
Whiteside,  or  in  literal  translation  of  the  Cherokee  title,  Unaka- 
kanoos,  White-mountain,  is  the  largest  exposure  of  perpendic- 


322  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

ular,  bare  rock  east  of  the  Rockies.  It  is  connected,  without 
deeply-marked  intervening  gaps,  with  its  neighboring  peaks  of 
the  Blue  Ridge ;  but  from  some  points  of  observation  it  appears 
isolated — a  majestic,  solitary,  dome-shaped  monument,  differ- 
ing from  all  other  mountains  of  the  Alleghanies  in  its  aspect 
and  form.  The  top  line  of  its  precipitous  front  is  1,600  feet 
above  its  point  of  conjunction  with  the  crest  of  the  green  hill, 
which  slopes  to  the  Chatooga,  800  feet  lower.  The  face  of  the 
mountain  is  gray,  not  white  ;  but  is  seared  by  long  rifts,  running 
horizontal  across  it,  of  white  rock.  With  the  exception  of  a 
single  patch  of  green  pines,  half-way  up  its  face,  no  visible 
verdure  covers  its  nakedness. 

Below  the  eastern  foot  of  the  mountain  spreads  away  rolling 
valley-land,  with  hills  forest-crowned,  fertile  depths  drained  by 
the  Chatooga's  headwaters,  and  portions  of  it  laid  out  in  culti- 
vated fields,  and  dotted  with  farm-houses.  At  the  base  of 
Whiteside,  on  one  of  a  series  of  green  rounded  hills,  lives  an 
independent,  elderly  Englishman,  named  Grimshawe ;  and  near 
by,  in  a  commodious,  sumptuously-furnished  dwelling,  partially 
concealed  by  a  hill  and  its  natural  grove,  resides  his  son,  a 
pleasant  man,  with  a  healthy,  English  cast  of  countenance.  In 
the  dark  we  passed  unseen  the  latter  place ;  and,  pushing  along 
on  our  dejected  and  dispirited  steeds,  fording  the  cold,  splash- 
ing streams,  disappearing  from  each  other  under  the  funereal 
shadows  of  the  melancholy  forests,  climbing  the  cricket-sound- 
ing hills,  we  at  length  drew  rein  before  the  almost  imperceptible 
outlines  of  a  low  building  arising  under  some  gaunt  trees. 

I  dismounted,  tossed  my  bridle  to  my  companion,  felt  my 
way  through  a  trembling  gate,  stumbled  upon  a  black  porch 
and  approached  a  door  through  whose  latch-string  hole  and 
gaping  slits  rays  of  light  were  sifting.  My  rattling  knock  was 
responded  to  by  a  savage  growl  from  an  animal  whose  sharp- 
ness of  teeth  I  could  easily  imagine,  and  whose  presence  I  felt 


' '  /  Drinks  Hit  fer  Stimilatiou. "  323 

relieved  in  knowing  was  within.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  a 
queer  looking  man  stood  before  me.  He  was  very  short  in 
stature.  His  face  was  thin  and  colorless.  A  neglected  brown 
moustache  adorned  his  upper  lip.  His  hair  was  long  and  un- 
combed ;  and  his  person,  attired  in  an  unbleached,  unstarched 
shirt  and  dirty  pantaloons,  was  odorous  with  tallow.  This  was 
Picklesimer. 

"Can  my  friend  and  I  stay  here  all  night?"  I  asked. 

"I  reckon.      Our  fare's  poor,  but  you're  welcome." 

The  door  swung  wider.  Several  children,  fac  similes  of  their 
sire,  and  a  woman  were  eating  at  a  table  lighted  by  a  tallow 
dip, — a  twisted  woolen  rag  laid  in  a  saucer  of  tallow  and  one 
end  of  it  ablaze.  There  was  nothing  inviting  in  this  picture ; 
but  a  shelter,  however  miserable,  was  better  than  the  night ; 
and  rest,  in  any  shape,  preferable  to  several  miles  more  of  dark 
riding.  In  a  few  minutes  our  supper  was  ready.  Picklesimer 
sat  opposite  to  us  and  to  keep  us  company,  poured  out  for  him- 
self a  cup  of  black  coffee. 

"Coffee  is  good  fer  stimilation,"  said  he. 

"That's  so,"  said  the  artist. 

"When  I  drinks  coffee  fer  stimilation,"  he  continued,  run- 
ning his  fingers  back  through  his  hair,  "  I  drinks  it  without 
sugar  or  milk." 

We  had  evidently  struck  a  coffee  toper. 

"Do  you  drink  much  of  it? "  inquired  my  companion,  as 
Picklesimer  began  pouring  out  another  cup  full. 

"I  drinks  three  and  four  cups  to  a  meal.  .Hits. powerful 
stimilation;"  and  then  he  rolled  his  dark,  deep-sunken  eyes 
at  us  over  the  rim  of  his  saucer  as  he  tipped  the  contents  into 
the  cavity  under  his  moustache.  Evidently  he  drank  coffee  as  a 
substitute  for  unattainable  blockade.  Our  host  had  no  valuable 
information  to  impart ;  so,  soon  after  supper  we  retired  to  a 


324  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

room  set  apart  for  us,  and  sank  away  for  a  sound  night's  sleep 
in  a  high  bed  of  suffocating  feathers. 

After  our  breakfast  the  next  morning  we  went  out  on  the 
porch.  We  supposed  Picklesimer,  too,  had  finished  his  repast, 
but  were  deceived.  A  minute  after,  he  followed  us  with  a  full 
cup  of  steaming  coffee  which  he  placed  on  the  window-sill,  as 
it  was  too  hot  to  hold  steadily  in  his  fingers,  and  interlarded  his 
remarks  with  swallows  of  the  liquid.  His  charges  were  one 
dollar  apiece  for  our  lodging,  fare,  and  the  stabling  and  feed 
for  our  horses.  We  then  shook  hands  and  departed.  For  days 
his  short  figure,  with  a  steam-wreathing  coffee-cup  in  hand,  was 
before  my  eyes,  and  in  my  ears  the  words : 

"I  drinks  hit  fer  stimulation." 

Horse  cove  lies  in  the  extreme  southern  part  of  Jackson 
county,  and  within  only  three  or  four  miles  of  the  Georgia  line. 
Its  name  is  about  as  euphonious  as  Little  Dutch  creek,  and  is 
applied  to  this  charming  valley  landscape  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  a  man's  horse  was  once  lost  in  it.  Black  Rock,  with 
bold,  stony,  treeless  front,  looms  up  on  one  border,  and  on  an- 
other, Satoola,  with  precipitous  slope,  wood-covered,  forms  a 
sheltering  wall  for  the  600  acres  of  fertile,  level  land  below.  A 
hotel  keeps  open-doors  in  summer  within  the  cove.  The  pic- 
turesqueness  is  heightened  by  the  sight  of  an  elegant  and  sub- 
stantial residence,  strangely  but  romantically  situated,  on  the 
very  brow  of  Black  Rock.  It  is  the  property  of  Mr.  Ravenel, 
a  wealthy  Charlestonian. 

Through  Horse  cove  there  is  a  road  leading  to  Walhalla, 
South  Carolina,  the  nearest  railroad  depot,  twenty-five  miles 
away.  It  is  a  decidedly  interesting  route  to  be  pursued  by  a 
tourist.  You  will  follow  the  Chatooga  river,  into  Rabun  county, 
Georgia,  along  a  picturesque  course  of  falls  and  rapids,  by 
primitive  saw-mills,  unworked  and  decaying,  through  a  wild 
and  cheerless  tract  of  uncultivated  mountain  country,  where 


Mounting  from  a  Fence.  325 

miserable  farm-houses,  and  none  others,  but  seldom  show  them- 
selves, and  where  the  unbroken  solitude  breeds  blockade  whisky 
stills,  in  its  many  dark  ravines  and  pine  forests.  It  would 
bother  any  officer,  in  penetrating  this  section,  to  definitely 
ascertain  when  his  feet  were  on  North  Carolina,  Georgia,  or 
South  Carolina  soil. 

The  road,  however,  which  we  wish  to  take  the  traveler  over, 
leads  up  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  zigzag  course,  through  the  forested 
aisles  of  Black  Rock.  Three  miles  and  a  half  is  the  distance 
from  its  base  to  the  hamlet  of  Highlands.  The  engineering  of 
the  road  is  so  perfect  that,  in  spite  of  the  precipitousness  of  the 
mountain,  the  ascent  is  gradual.  Let  the  man  on  horse-back 
pay  particular  attention  to  his  saddle-blankets  while  ascending 
or  descending  a  mountain.  If  he  wishes  to  keep  under  him  a 
horse  with  a  sound  back,  he  will  have  to  dismount  every  few 
minutes,  unbuckle  the  girth,  and  slip  the  blankets  in  place. 
Among  the  worst  of  uncomfortable  situations  for  the  horseman, 
is  that  of  being  a  hundred  miles  from  his  destination  with  a 
sore-backed  saddle- animal,  which  will  kick  or  kneel  at  every 
attempt  to  mount.  Imagine  yourself,  at  every  stopping-place, 
morning  and  noon,  leading  that  horse  to  a  fence  upon  which 
you,  in  the  manner  of  a  decrepit  old  fossil,  are  obliged  to  climb, 
to  throw  yourself  with  one  leap  into  the  saddle.  The  rosy- 
cheeked  mountaineer's  daughter  will  most  assuredly  laugh  at 
you,  and  ascribe  to  inactivity  the  fact  of  your  inability  to  mount 
from  the  ground.  A  sorry  figure!  In  every  mountain  stream 
forded,  your  steed  will  kneel  to  let  the  water  lave  his  back.  No 
chance  for  dreaming  on  your  part.  But  worst  of  all,  how  dis- 
agreeable must  a  man's  sensations  be,  over  the  knowledge  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  animal  under  him.  Get  down  and  walk 
would  be  my  advice. 

A  word  more  on  the  subject  of  saddles  and  the  beasts  they 
cover.  If  it  is  a  mule,  see  that  you  have  a  crupper  on  him.  In 


326  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

descending  a  mountain  it  is  impossible  to  keep  a  saddle,  with- 
out the  restraint  of  a  crupper,  from  running  against  a  mule's 
ears.  At  such  times,  if  you  have  objections  to  straddling  a 
narrow  neck  which  need  not  necessarily  be  kept  stiff,  you  must 
walk.  A  breast-strap  is  often  a  valuable  piece  of  harness  to 
have  with  you  for  either  horse  or  mule. 

On  gaining  the  gap  of  the  mountain  the  traveler  will  find 
himself  on  a  lofty  table-land  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  about  4,000 
feet  above  ocean  level.  Whiteside,  Satoola,  Fodderstack,  Black 
Rock,  and  Short-off  support  it  on  their  shoulders,  while  their 
massive  heads  rise  but  little  above  the  level.  From  the  center 
of  the  plateau,  such  of  these  mountains  as  are  visible  appear 
insignificant  hills  when  compared  with  their  stupendous  fronts 
and  azure-lancing  summits  as  seen  from  the  contiguous  valleys 
at  the  base  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  This  table-land  contains  7,000 
acres  of  rich  land,  shaded  by  forests  of  hard-wood  trees  and  the 
sharp  pyramidal-foliaged  pines.  The  streams  that  drain  it  are 
of  the  color  of  topaz,  except  where  sleepless  mills  have  dammed 
the  waters,  and,  giving  them  depth  without  apparent  motion, 
have  left  dark,  reflecting  expanses,  unrippled  except  when,  at 
your  approach,  the  plunging  bull-frog  leaves  his  widening  rings, 
or  a  startled  muskrat  betrays  by  a  silvery  wake  his  flight  to  a 
sequestered  home  among  the  roots  of  the  stream-ward-leaning 
hemlock. 

In  the  most  elevated  portion  of  the  center  of  the  plateau  is 
situated  a  thriving  hamlet  of  one  hundred  or  more  people;  a 
colony,  strictly  speaking,  above  the  clouds,  and  appropriately 
called  Highlands.  It  was  founded  in  1874  by  Mr.  Kelsey  and 
Mr.  Hutchinson,  men  of  the  same  enterprising  and  enthusiastic 
mould  that  all  founders  of  towns  in  primitive  countries  are  cast 
in.  Our  first  sojourn  at  Highlands  was  with  Mr.  Kelsey  in 
1877.  Only  a  few  dwellings  and  as  many  green  clearings  were 
to  be  seen ;  still,  with  an  arder  which  to  us  seemed  savor- 


A  Queer  Subscription  List.  327 

ing  of  monomania,  the  projector  had  already  laid  out  by  means 
of  stakes,  streets  of  an  incipient  city,  and  talked  as  though  the 
imaginary  avenues  of  the  forests  were  already  lined  with  peace- 
ful homes  and  shadowed  by  the  walls  and  spires  of  churches. 
His  aspirations  are  being  slowly  realized.  The  village,  with  a 
nucleus  of  men  of  the  spirit  of  its  founders,  is  rapidly  assuming 
respectable  proportions.  Along  the  principal  thoroughfare  and 
parallel  side  streets  are  many  pleasant  dwellings,  culminating 
with  one  of  the  cross  streets  in  headquarters  comprising  a  good 
'hotel  kept  by  a  genial  landlord,  several  stores,  the  post-office, 
two  churches,  and  a  school-house  which  is  kept  open  for  full  and 
regular  terms.  A  wide-awake  newspaper,  on  a  sound  financial 
basis,  made  its  first  issue  in  January,  1883. 

The  farming  lands  surrounding  the  village  are  being  settled 
principally  by  northern  families.  A  railroad  at  no  distant  day 
will  penetrate  this  plateau.  A  practicable  route  has  been  sur- 
veyed along  the  summit  of  the  Blue  Ridge  from  where  the 
Rabun  Gap  Short  Line  crosses  at  the  lowest  gap  in  the  range. 
A  subscription  list,  in  the  form  of  enforceable  contracts  where- 
in each  signer  has  bound  himself  to  grade  ready  for  the  ties  and 
rails  certain  sections  of  the  route,  has  been  completed.  The 
prospects  for  the  coming  of  the  iron  horse  are  of  an  encouraging 
character.  The  most  convenient  route  to  reach  Highlands  for 
the  traveler  who  has  not  already  entered  the  mountains  for  the 
summer,  is  from  Walhalla,  South  Carolina,  distant  twenty-eight 
miles,  on  the  Blue  Ridge  railroad. 

The  lofty  altitude  of  this  plateau,  and  the  precipitous  fronts 
of  its  rimming  mountains,  bespeak,  for  its  neighborhood,  scenes 
of  grandeur, — waterfalls,  gorges,  mad  streams,  crags,  and 
forests  which,  when  looked  upon  from  above,  with  their  appal- 
ing  hush,  wave  back  the  observer.  Whiteside,  a  few  miles  from 
the  village,  is  a  point  which  no  sojourner  in  the  mountains 
should  fail  to  visit.  A  sight  down  a  precipice's  "  headlong  per- 


328  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

pendicular"  of  nearly  2,000  feet  has  something  in  it  positively 
chilling.  As  the  observer  to  secure  a  fair  view  lies  flat  on  the 
ground  with  part  of  his  head  projected  over  a  space  of  dread 
nothingness,  the  horrible  sensations  created,  which  in  some 
minds  culminate  in  an  overpowering  desire  to  gently  slip  away 
and  out  in  air,  are  fancifully  attributed  to  the  influences  of  a 
"demon  of  the  abyss."  The  pure,  apparently  tangible  air  of 
the  void,  and  the  soft  moss-like  bed  of  the  deep-down  forest 
bordered  by  a  silver  stream,  have  an  irresistible  fascination, 
especially  over  one  troubled  with  ennui.  Get  the  guide  to  hold 
your  feet  when  you  crawl  to  the  verge. 

There  is  a  grand  mountain  prospect  from  the  summit  of 
Whiteside.  The  landmarks  of  four  states  are  .crowded  within 
the  vision.  Mount  Yonah,  lifting  its  head  in  clouds,  is  the 
most  marked  point  in  Georgia ;  a  white  spot,  known  as  the  Ger- 
man settlement  of  Walhalla,  is  visible  in  the  level  plains  of 
South  Carolina ;  the  Smoky  Mountains  bounding  Tennessee 
line  the  northwestern  horizon,  and  on  all  sides  lie  the  valleys 
and  peaks  of  the  state,  in  which  the  feet  of  Whiteside  are  rooted. 

The  falls  of  Omakaluka  creek,  three  miles  west  of  High- 
lands, are  a  succession  of  cascades,  400  feet  in  descent.  The 
most  noteworthy  cataract,  of  the  plateau  region,  is  located 
about  four  miles  from  Highlands,  and  known  as  the  Dry  Fall  of 
the  Cullasaja.  The  name  was  given,  not  for  the  reason  of  the 
fall  being  dry,  but  because  of  the  practicability  of  a  man  walk- 
ing dry-shod  between  the  falling  sheet  of  water  and  the  cliff 
over  which  it  plunges.  The  way  to  reach  it  is  by  the  turnpike 
wending  toward  Franklin  twenty-two  miles  from  Highlands. 
This  road  is  smooth  as  a  floor,  and  runs  for  miles  through  un- 
fenced  forests,  principally  of  oak  and  hemlock.  After  pursuing 
it  for  three  miles,  a  sign  board  will  direct  you  to  turn  to  your 
left  down  a  slope.  You  can  ride  or  walk,  as  suits  your  con- 
venience. It  is  a  pleasant  ramble  along  a  wooded  ridge,  be- 


The  Cullasaja  Falls. 


329 

fore  you  reach  the 
laureled  bank  of  the 
river.  Meanwhile  the 
solemn  and  tremend- 
ous roar  of  the  cat- 
aract has  been  resound- 
ing in  your  ears  ;  and 
it  is  therefore  with  a 
faint  foreshadowing  of 
what  is  to  be  revealed 
that  you  pass  between 
the  shorn  hedge  of 
laurel,  to  the  edge  of 
a  cliff,  below  which, 
between  impending 
canon  walls,  fringed 
with  pines,  leaps  the 
waters  of  the  Culla- 
saja, in  a  sheer  descent 
of  ninety  feet. 

The    descent    from 
Highlands     into     the 
level     valley     of    the 
Cullasaja    is  one   pos- 
sessing 
panoram- 
i  c     gran- 
deur    to 
an  extent 
equalled 
by     but 
few  high- 
ways    i  n 
the  Alle- 
g  h  a  nies. 


33O  Beyond  Iron  Ways. 

Six  waterfalls  lie  in  its  vicinity.  Down  the  wooded  slope  winds 
the  road,  at  times  sweeping  round  points,  from  which,  by  sim- 
ply halting  your  horse  in  his  tracks,  can  be  secured  deep  valley 
views  of  romantic  loveliness. 

On  this  descent  a  series  of  picturesque  rapids  and  cascades 
enlivens  the  way  ;  and,  in  a  deep  gorge,  where,  on  one  precipi- 
tous side  the  turnpike  clings,  and  the  other  rises  abruptly  across 
the  void,  tumbles  the  lower  Sugar  Fork  falls.  They  are  heard, 
but  unseen,  from  the  narrow  road.  The  descent  is  arduous, 
but  all  difficulties  encountered  are  well  repaid  by  the  sight  from 
the  bottom  of  the  canon. 

From  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  on  toward  Franklin  there  is 
little  of  the  sublime  to  hold  the  attention.  From  this  village 
the  traveler  en  route  for  iron  ways  would  better  travel  toward 
the  Georgia  state  line,  which  runs  along  the  low  crest  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  The  road  winds  beside  the  Little  Tennessee, 
following  it  through  wide  alluvial  bottoms  until  this  stream 
which,  thirty  miles  below,  is  a  wide  and  noble  river,  has  dwindled 
to  an  insignificant  creek.  At  Rabun  gap  you  pass  out  of  North 
Carolina. 

The  scenery  of  the  southern  slope  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in 
Northern  Georgia,  is  justly  celebrated  for  its  sublimity  and 
wildness.  Although  outside  the  prescribed  limit  of  this  volume, 
its  proximity  alone  to  the  picturesque  regions  of  the  high 
plateau  of  the  Alleghanies,  should  entitle  it  to  some  notice. 

From  Rabun  gap  it  is  four  miles  to  Clayton,  a  dilapidated 
village,  consisting  of  a  few  houses  grouped  along  a  street  which 
runs  over  a  low  hill.  On  the  north  it  is  vision-bounded  by  the 
wooded  heights  of  the  Blue  Ridge ;  on  the  south,  a  stretch  of 
low  land,  somewhat  broken  by  ridges,  rolls  away.  It  is  the 
capital  of  Rabun  county. 

Twelve  miles  from  Clayton  are  the  cataracts  of  Tallulah.  A 
comfortable  hotel  stands  near  them.  The  scenery  in  their 


The  Scenery  of  Northern  Georgia.  331 

vicinity  is  of  wild  grandeur.  Through  a  canon,  nearly  1,000 
feet  deep,  and  several  miles  long,  the  waters  of  the  Tallulah 
force  their  way.  The  character  of  the  scenery  of  the  chasm  is 
thus  described: 

"  The  walls  are  gigantic  cliffs  of  dark  granite.  The  heavy  masses,  piled  upon  each 
other  in  the  wildest  confusion,  sometimes  shoot  out,  overhanging  the  yawning  gulf,  and 
threatening  to  break  from  their  seemingly  frail  tenure,  and  hurl  themselves  headlong  into 
its  dark  depths.  Along  the  rocky  and  uneven  bed  of  this  deep  abyss,  the  infuriated 
Terrora  frets  and  foams  with  ever-varying  course.  Now,  it  flows  in  sullen  majesty, 
through  a  deep  and  romantic  glen,  embowered  in  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  which  here  and 
there  spring  from  the  rocky  ledges  of  the  chasm-walls.  Anon,  it  rushes  with  accelerated 
motion,  breaking  fretfully  over  protruding  rocks,  and  uttering  harsh  murmurs,  as  it  verges 
a  precipice — 

'  Where,  collected  all, 
In  one  impetuous  torrent,  down  the  steep 
It  thundering  shoots,  and  shakes  the  country  round  : 
At  first,  an  azure  sheet,  it  rushes  broad; 
Then  whitening  by  degrees  as  prone  it  falls, 
And  from  the  loud-resounding  rocks  below 
Dashed  in  a  cloud  of  foam,  it  sends  aloft 
A  hoary  mist,  and  forms  a  ceaseless  shower."' 

The  other  points  of  interest  are  the  valley  of  Nacoochee, 
Mount  Yonah,  the  cascades  of  Estatoa  visible  from  Rabun  gap, 
and  the  Tocca  Falls,  five  or  six  miles  from  Tallulah.  At 
Toccoa  the  journey  can  be  ended  by  the  traveler  striking  the 
Atlanta  &  Charlotte  Air  Line. 


A  ZIGZAG  TOUR. 


Were  there,  below,  a  spot  of  holy  ground 
Where  from  distress  a  refuge  might  be  found, 
And  solitude  prepare  the  soul  for  heaven  ; 
Sure,  nature's  God  that  spot  to  man  bad  given 
Where  fells  the  purple  morning  far  and  wide 
In  flakes  of  light  upon  the  mountain  side  ; 
Where  with  loud  voice  the  power  of  water  shakes 
The  leafy  wood,  or  sleeps  in  quiet  lakes. 


ALTHOUGH  the  Alleghanies  south  of  the  Virginia  line 
have  for  many  years  been  recognized  as  a  summer 
resort,  they  have  never  received  due  appreciation.  The  recog- 
nition has  been  almost  wholly  on  the  part  of  Southerners.  The 
people  of  the  North,  at  the  yearly  advent  of  the  hot  season, 
have  had  their  attention  turned  to  the  sea  shore,  the  lakes,  and 
the  mountains  of  Vermont  and  New  Hampshire.  To  go  south 
in  summer  seemed  suicidal.  Within  comparatively  late  years 
the  dissipation  of  this  false  impression  has  begun;  and  other 
ideas  than  hot,  sultry  skies  and  oppressive  air  have  been  asso- 
ciated in  the  minds  of  an  initiated  few  with  the  contemplation 
of  a  journey  to  North  Carolina.  A  knowledge  of  valleys  3,000 

333 


334  ^  Zigzag  Tour. 

feet  high,  with  mountains  around  as  high  again,  situated  north 
of  the  thirty-fifth  parallel  north  latitude,  has  had  some  effect  to 
bring  about  this  change.  The  climate  in  such  a  country  would 
naturally  be  mild,  pleasant  and  invigorating.  To  avoid  being 
statistical  the  figures  of  mean,  extreme  and  average  tempera- 
tures of  different  seasons  taken  with  accuracy  for  a  number  of 
successive  years,  will  not  be  given  here ;  by  comparison  of  the 
table  of  mean  temperatures  with  observations  taken  throughout 
the  United  States  and  Europe,  the  climate  of  Asheville  is 
found  to  be  similar  to  that  of  Venice,  being  the  same  in  winter, 
and  varying  not  more  than  two  degrees  in  any  of  the  other  sea- 
sons. The  altitude  of  the  entire  mountain  country ;  the  free- 
dom of  its  air  from  dust;  it's  excellent  drainage;  clear  skies; 
spring  water  and  invigorating  breezes  recommend  it  to  the 
notice  of  invalids,  and  particularly  to  those  with  pulmonary 
diseases.  The  winters,  while  more  rigorous  than  those  of  the 
neighboring  lowlands  of  the  South,  are  extremely  mild  when 
compared  with  the  temperature  of  the  states  north  of  this 
region.  The  mountain  heights  are  frequently  capped  with 
snow;  but  the  fall  in  the  valleys  is  light ;  sometimes  the  winter 
passing  without  a  snow  storm. 

For  tourists  from  the  western,  north-western  and  southern 
states,  the  great  line  of  the  East  Tennessee,  Virginia  &  Georgia 
railroad  will  place  them,  at  Morristown,  in  connection  with  a 
branch  railway  penetrating  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  and  after 
a  journey  across  the  state  line,  via  Warm  Springs  and  the 
French  Broad, -will  land  them  in  the  streets  of  the  capital  of 
Western  North  Carolina.  Another  route  for  Southerners  is  the 
Spartanburg  &  Asheville  railroad  leading  up  from  South  Carol- 
ina to  within  eighteen  miles  of  Asheville.  The  thoroughfare 
for  travelers  from  the  eastern  and  northern  states  is  via  the 
Richmond  &  Danville  system  of  railroads  to  Salisbury,  and 


Resorts  of  the  Piedmont  Region.  335 

there  changing  to  the  Western  North  Carolina   railroad,  which 
now  crosses  the  entire  breadth  of  the  Alleghanies. 

The  traveler  over  the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad  is  first 
brought  within  view  of  the  dim,  waving  outline  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  as  the  train  rounds  a  bend  just  before  reaching  Hickory 
—a  center  of  trade,  spoken  of  in  another  connection.  This 
village  is  an  agreeable  place  to  spend  a  few  weeks.  Many  per- 
sons make  it  the  starting  place  to  distant  points  in  the  moun- 
tains, while  the  number  amounts  to  hundreds  annually,  who 
take  the  stage  here  en-route  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  popu- 
lar resorts  west  of  the  Catawba — Sparkling  Catawba  springs, 
seven  miles  distant. 

The  road  leading  from  Hickory  to  Catawba  Springs,  is  so 
level  and  well  worked  that  less  than  an  hour  need  be  occupied 
in  the  journey.  Rolling  fields  of  corn,  cotton  and  tobacco, 
alternating  with  forests  of  pine,  oak  and  hickory,  line  the  way. 
On  the  right  the  distant  view  is  bounded  by  the  horizon  ob- 
liquely resting  upon*an  undulating  surface;  on  the  left  by  the 
ever  changing  outline  of  mountain  peaks,  twenty  to  forty  miles 
distant.  The  stage  at  last  turns,  rumbles  down  a  gentle  hill, 
crosses  a  bright  stream,  and  stops  at  the  entrance  gate  of  the 
resort.  While  the  gate  is  being  opened,  there  is  time  for  a 
hurried  glance  at  the  surroundings.  The  creek  just  crossed, 
enters  a  level  plat  of  smooth-shorn  lawn,  shaded  by  large  forest 
trees,  under  which,  without  order  in  their  arrangement,  are 
several  low  white  building — bath  houses,  tenpin  alley  and  spring 
shelters.  Your  eye  will  soon  settle  upon  an  interesting  group 
around  and  within  a  low  iron  railing  which  guards  the  sparkling 
mineral  fountain.  There  are  seen,  with  cup  in  hand,  old  and 
middle-aged  men  and  women,  heavy-eyed  and  sallow-faced, 
drinking  the  health-giving  water ;  going  to  and  fro,  and  mingl- 
ing with  them  are  the  airy  devotees  of  pleasure — men  and 
women  ;  last  but  noisest  and  most  numerous  are  the  children 


336  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

playing  and  chasing  across  the  lawn.  The  stage  goes  a  few 
rods  further,  and  then  turns  into  a  winding  drive,  through  the 
wooded  amphitheater  shown  in  the  illustration  on  page  235. 

Around  the  semi-circular  summit  of  the  hill  up  which  you 
have  ridden,  is  a  row  of  sixteen  cottages,  containing  from  two 
to  four  rooms  each.  Half  way  round  is  a  three-story  hall 
known  among  guests  as  the  "Castle."  On  the  extreme  left 
are  two  other  large  buildings;  one  containing  the  reception 
rooms,  and  office  on  the  ground  floor,  the  other  the  kitchen  and 
dinning-room,  and  over  them  the  dancing  hall.  There  is  ample 
accommodation  in  these  buildings  for  300  guests,  and  nearly 
that  number  has  occupied  them  at  one  time.  The  grounds 
consist  of  250  acres — forest,  fields  and  orchards. 

Every  resort  has  its  sunrise  views,  its  sunset  views,  its  lover's 
walks  and  lover's  retreats,  flirtation  corners  and  accept- 
ance glens.  All  these  places  at  Catawba  springs  are  at  proper 
distances,  and  conveniently  secluded.  The  Catawba  river  is 
one  mile  away,  arid  Barrett's  mountain  five.  From  the  sum- 
mit of  the  highest  peak  the  entire  chain  of  the  Blue  Ridge  from 
Swannanoa  gap  to  Ashe  county  is  in  plain  view.  Lying  before 
it  and  jutting  into  its  spurs,  is  seen  the  whole  valley  of  the 
Upper  Catawba. 

The  altitude  of  Catawba  springs  is  1,200  feet.  The  prevail- 
ing winds  being  from  the  north  and  west  over  the  mountain 
summits,  produce  cool  climate.  Eighty-nine  was  the  maxi- 
mum temperature  last  season. 

The  principal  spring  which  has  given  to  the  place  its  reputa- 
tion as  a  health  resort,  contains  a  variety  of  minerals  in 
solution.  A  sparkle  is  given  to  the  water  by  the  constant  ebulli- 
tion of  phosphoric  and  carbonic  gases.  There  are  four  other 
springs  within  a  radius  of  fifty  steps,  one  of  them  being  pure 
freestone. 

There   is   nothing   of  scenic    interest    between    Hickory  and 


Glimpses  of  Majestic  Mountains  337 

Morganton — the  oldest  village  in  the  mountain  district,  having 
been  founded  during  the  Revolution.  It  subsequently  became 
the  home  of  the  leading  spirits  among  the  western  settlers. 
From  a  society  point  of  view  the  town  sustains  its  ancient  rep- 
utation for  polish  and  cleverness.  The  business  buildings  are 
mostly  old,  but  the  avenues  are  pleasant,  and  the  residences 
inviting.  There  are  several  commanding  views  of  scenery  in 
the  vicinity,  that  from  the  dome  of  the  Western  Insane  asylum 
surpassing  all  others  in  scope.  It  is  a  charming  panorama  of 
cultivated  fields,  winding  rivers,  and  distant  slopes  terminating 
in  rugged  peaks.  The  asylum  building  itself  is  a  magnificent 
structure,  having  a  capacity  of  400  patients.  The  grounds 
consists  of  250  acres,  mostly  covered  by  the  native  forest. 

Thirteen  miles  from  Morganton,  and  two  miles  off  the  road 
to  Rutherfordton,  is  Glen  Alpine.  The  building,  as  first  seen 
from  the  gate  of  the  lawn,  might  be  taken  for  the  villa  of  a 
capitalist,  so  homelike  is  it  in  appearance.  Its  capacity  is  200 
guests,  though  the  facade  view  does  not  indicate  a  structure 
half  so  large.  Adjoining  are  small  buildings  for  gaming  pur- 
poses. The  terrace  on  which  the  hotel  is  situated,  is  surrounded 
on  three  sides  by  slopes  stretching  from  peaks  surmounting  the 
South  Mountain  range,  the  highest  being  Probst's  knob,  in  the 
rear.  That  elevated  summit  affords  an  extended  view  in  all 
directions.  The  South  Mountain  peaks  are  within  range. 
Overlooking  the  Catawba  valley,  the  Blue  Ridge  and  its  spurs 
are  seen  in  perfect  outline  all  the  way  from  Hickory  Nut  gap  to 
Watauga.  Above  and  beyond  the  Blue  Ridge  several  peaks  of 
the  Blacks  may  be  counted,  and  far  in  the  distance  on  a  clear 
sky  will  be  distinguished  the  hazy  outline  of  the  Roan.  There 
is  a  mineral  spring  in  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel,  which  is  the  at- 
traction for  many  people  afflicted,  but  by  far  the  largest  number 
of  guests  are  pleasure  seekers. 

Piedmont  Springs  hotel,  about   fifteen  miles  from  Morganton 


338 


A  Zigzag  Tour. 


in  Burke  county,  is  open  for  the  reception  of  guests  during  the 
summer  months. 

After  leaving  Morganton,  going  west,  following  the  Catawba 
river,  you  have  occasional  glimpses  of  Table  Rock,  Hawk-Bill, 
and  Grandfather,  on  the  right,  and  the  frowning  Blacks  in 
front.  Marion  is  the  last  town,  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  where 
traveling  equipages  can  be  procured.  It  is  a  pleasantly  located 
village,  of  something  less  than  1,000  inhabitants,  having  two 
hotels,  a  variety  of  stores,  and  a  newspaper  printing  office.  It 
is  from  this  point  that  most  commercial  travelers  drive  to  reach 
their  customers  at  Burnsville,  Bakersville  and  other  points  in 
Yancey  and  Mitchell  counties.  Sightseers,  going  to  the  Roan, 
fishermen  and  hunters,  to  the  Toe  or  Cane  river  wildernesses, 
may  leave  the  railroad  at  this  point  with  advantage.  The  base 
of  the  Blue  Ridge  is  only  five  miles  distant. 

Leaving  Marion,  heavy 
[grades,   deep   cuts,  and   a 
tunnel   remind  the  travel- 
er that  he  has  entered  the 
mountains.     His  previous 
traveling    has    been    be- 
tween them,  through  the 
I  broad  valley   of  the     Ca- 
wba.     Henry's    station, 
which    is    merely  a  hotel 
and    eating-house,    stands 
at  the  foot-  of  a  long  and 
steep  slope.     By  climbing 
the   bank  a  short  distance,  to  the 
top  of    a   small  hill,  opposite  the 
building,  the   observer   will,  from   that 
point,  see    seven    sections   of   railroad 
ON  THE  BLUE  RIDGE,      track    cut   off   from  each  other  by  in- 


Tunnels  and  Picturesque  Curves.  339 

tervening  hills.  If  seven  sticks,  of  unequal  length,  should  be 
tossed  into  the  air,  they  could  not  fall  upon  the  ground  more 
promiscuously  than  these  seven  sections  of  railroad  appear 
from  the  point  indicated. 

The  elevation  to  be  overcome  in  passing  from  Henry's  to 
the  Swannanoa  valley  is  i,ioofeet,  the  distance  in  an  air  line 
about  two  miles — the  old  stage  road  covering  it  in  a  little  less 
than  three,  an  average  grade  of  400  feet  to  the  mile.  Of 
course  the  railroad  had  to  be  constructed  on  a  more  circuitous 
route,  which  was  found  by  following  the  general  course  of  a 
mountain  stream,  rounding  the  head  of  its  rivulets,  and  cutting 
or  tunneling  sharply  projecting  spurs.  At  two  places,  a  stone 
tossed  from  the  track  above  would  fall  about  100  feet  upon  the 
track  below  ;  one  of  these  is  Round  Knob,  the  circuit  of  which 
is  more  than  a  mile.  The  whole  distance  to  the  top,  by  rail, 
is  nine  and  three-quarters  miles.  The  grade  at  no  point  ex- 
ceeds 1 1 6  feet  to  the  mile,  and  is  equated  to  less  than  that  on 
curves.  There  are  seven  tunnels,  the  shortest  being  eighty-nine 
ieet,  and  the  longest, — at  the  top, — Swannanoa,  1,800.  The 
total  length  of  tunneling  was  3,495  feet.  During  the  ascent 
the  traveler  catches  many  charming  'glimpses  of  valley,  slope, 
and  stream.  The  view  just  before  plunging  into  the  blackness 
of  Swannanoa  tunnel  is  enchanting.  A  narrow  ravine  is 
crossed  at  right  angles,  'between  whose  canon  walls,  far  below, 
glistens  the  spray  of  a  small  torrent.  The  background  of  the 
picture  is  the  delicately  tinted  eastern  sky,  against  which  ap- 
pears, in  pale  blue,  the  symmetrical  outline  of  King's  mountain, 
sixty  miles  away.  It  is  an  interesting  experiment,  in  making 
this  trip,  to  pick  out  some  point  on  the  top  of  the  ridge,  say 
the  High  Pinnacle,  easily  distinguished  as  the  highest  point  in 
view  from  Henry's  ;  fix  its  direction  in  your  mind,  and  then,  at 
intervals,  as  you  round  the  curves  of  the  ascent,  try  to  find  it 
among  the  hundred  peaks  in  view. 


34°  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

After  the  long  tunnel  is  passed,  you  are  in  the  Swannanoa 
valley.  The  next  hour  takes  you  rapidly  through  the  fields  and 
meadows  of  this  highland  bottom,  bordered  by  mighty  moun- 
tains, until  the  train  enters  the  Asheville  depot. 

In  the  center  of  the  widest  portion  of  that  great  plateau, 
watered  by  the  French  Broad  and  its  tributaries,  is  situated  the 
city  of  the  mountains — Asheville,  the  county-seat  of  Buncombe. 
To  obtain  some  idea  of  the  location  of  the  place,  picture  to 
yourself  a  green,  mountain  basin,  thirty  miles  in  breadth,  rolling 
with  lofty  rounded  hills,  from  the  crest  of  any  of  which  the 
majestic  fronts  of  the  Black  and  Craggy  can  be  seen  along  the 
eastern  horizon ;  the  Pisgah  spur  of  the  Balsams,  the  Junalus- 
kas  and  Newfound  range,  looming  along  the  western  ;  in  the 
northern  sky,  far  beyond  the  invisible  southern  boundary  of 
Madison,  the  misty  outlines  of  the  Smokies  ;  and  towards  the 
south,  across  Henderson  county,  the  winding  Blue  Ridge. 
Amid  such  sublime  surroundings,  at  an  altitude  of  2,250  feet, 
stands  the  city  on  the  summits  of  a  cluster  of  swelling  emi- 
nences, whose  feet  are  washed  by  the  waters  of  the  French 
Broad  and  Swannanoa.  Close  along  the  eastern  limit  of  the 
city  arises  a  steep,  wooded  ridge,  whose  most  prominent  eleva- 
tion, named  Beaucatcher,  affords  an  admirable  standpoint  from 
which  to  view  the  lower  landscape. 

The  habitations  and  public  buildings  of  3,500  people  lie  below. 
You  see  a  picturesque  grouping  of  heavy,  red  buildings,  daz- 
zling roofs,  a  great  domed  court-house,  a  white  church  spire 
here  and  there,  humble  dwellings  clinging  to  the  hill-sides,  and 
pretentious  mansions  amid  fair  orchards  on  the  green  brows  of 
hills  ;  yellow  streets,  lined  with  noble  shade  trees,  climbing  the 
natural  elevations,  sinking  into  wide,  gentle  hollows,  and  dis- 
appearing utterly; — this  for  the  heart  of  the  city,  Around,  on 
bare  slopes  of  hills,  low  beside  running  rivulets,  on  isolated 
eminences,  and  in  the  distance,  on  the  edges  of  green,  encircling 


Asheville.  341 

woods,  stand  houses  forming  the  outskirts.  Three  hundred 
feet  below  the  line  of  the  city's  central  elevation,  through  a 
wide  fertile  valley,  sweeps  smoothly  and  silently  along,  the 
dark  waters  of  the  French  Broad.  It  is  through  sweet  pastoral 
scenes  that  this  river  is  now  flowing;  the  rugged  and  pictur- 
esque scenery  for  which  it  is  noted  lies  further  down  its  wind- 
ing banks.  At  the  east  end  of  the  substantial  iron  bridge 
which  spans  the  stream,  is  the  depot  for  the  Western  North 
Carolina  railroad.  From  your  perch  you  may  perceive,  wafted 
above  the  distant  brow  of  the  hill,  the  smoke-rings  from  the 
locomotive  which  has  within  the  past  two  hours  "split  the  Blue 
Ridge,"  and  is  now  on  its  way  toward  the  station. 

If  it  is  a  clear,  sunny  day,  the  beauty  of  the  scene  will  be 
indescribable :  the  city  on  its  rolling  hills,  the  deep  valley  be- 
yond, and,  far  away,  Pisgah  (a  prince  among  mountains),  the 
symmetrical  form  of  Sandy  Mush  Bald,  and  between  them, 
distant  thirty  miles,  the  almost  indistinct  outlines  of  the  majes- 
tic Balsams.  A  transparent  sky,  a  mellow  sunlight,  and  that 
soft  air,  peculiar  to  this  country,  which  covers  with  such  a  deli- 
cate purple  tinge  the  distant  headlands,  add  their  charms  to  the 
landscape. 

In  a  stroll  or  drive  through  the  city  you  will  find  it  remark- 
ably well  built  up  for  the  extent  of  its  population.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  knowledge  of  its  being  a  summer  resort,  one  would 
wonder  at  the  number  and  capacity  of  its  hotels.  The  Swan- 
nanoa  and  Eagle,  two  commodious,  elegant,  and  substantial 
buildings,  stand  facing  each  other  on  the  main  thoroughfare. 
Several  other  good  public  houses,  although  less  pretentious, 
line  the  same  street.  There  is  a  busy  air  about  the  square  be- 
fore the  court-house  and  on  the  streets  which  branch  from  it. 

Men  of  capital  are  beginning  to  locate  here.  With  every 
summer  new  houses  are  growing  into  form  on  the  many  charm- 
ing sites  for  the  display  of  costly  residences.  The  smooth 


342  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

streets  arise  and  descend  by  well-kept  lawns,  orchards,  and 
dwellings.  A  home-like  air  pervades.  There  are  few  towns  in 
the  United  States  which,  for  natural  advantages,  combined  with 
number  of  population,  and  pleasant  artificial  surroundings,  can 
compare  with  Asheville.  Besides  advancing  in  commercial  and 
manufacturing  importance,  Asheville  will,  at  no  late  date,  be 
spoken  of  as  the  city  of  retired  capitalists. 

As  early  as  the  War  of  1812,  Asheville  was  a  small  hamlet 
and  trading  post  Twenty  years  after,  it  received  its  charter  of 
incorporation.  Morristown  was  the  original  name,  which  was 
changed,  in  compliment  to  Governor  Samuel  Ashe.  The 
county  was  named  in  honor  of  Edward  Buncombe.  In  1817 
Felix  Walker  was  elected  to  the  House  of  Representatives. 
On  one  occasion,  while  Walker  was  making  a  speech  in  Con- 
gress, he  failed  to  gain  the  attention  of  the  members,  who  kept 
leaving  the  hall.  Noticing  this,  he  remarked  that  it  was  all 
right,  as  he  was  only  talking  for  Buncombe,  meaning  his  dis- 
trict. The  expression  was  immediately  caught  up,  and  used  in 
application  to  one  speaking  with  no  particular  object  in  view. 

At  present,  Asheville  is  the  principal  tobacco  market  west  of 
Danville,  on  the  Richmond  &  Danville  system,  four  large 
warehouses  being  located  here.  Two  newspapers  are  published 
in  the  city.  The  Citizen,  a  Democratic  weekly  and  semi-week- 
ly sheet,  one  of  the  best  papers  in  the  state,  is  the  official  organ 
of  the  Eighth  district.  The  News  is  a  weekly  Republican  paper. 

Among  the  societies  worthy  of  notice,  is  the  Asheville  club, 
comprising  about  forty  members.  Its  organization  is  for  social 
purposes.  A  pleasant  room  has  been  fitted  up  for  its  head- 
quarters, where  the  members  can  while  away  their  leisure  hours 
in  reading  and  conversation. 

Before  the  advent,  into  Asheville,  of  the  railroad,  in  1880, 
tourists  approached  the  mountain  city  by  stages  from  either  the 
terminus  of  the  Western  North  Carolina  railroad,  at  the  eastern 


Scenes  in  and  Around  the  Mountain  City.  343 

foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge ;  from  Greenville,  South  Carolina ;  or  up 
the  French  Broad  from  Tennessee.  With  the  present  speedy 
and  convenient  way  of  reaching  it,  the  influx  of  new-comers  in- 
creases with  every  season.  Every  day  during  the  months  of 
July,  August,  and  September,  when  the  season  is  at  its  height, 
the  business  portion  of  Asheville  resembles  the  center,  on  market 
days,  of  a  metropolis  of  twenty  times  the  size  of  the  mountain 
town.  The  streets,  especially  before  the  hotels,  are  thronged 
with  citizens,  and  the  crowds  of  summer  visitors,  on  foot  or  in 
carriages,  returning  from  or  starting  on  drives  along  some  of 
the  romantic  roads.  Parties  on  horseback  canter  through  the 
streets,  drawing  short  rein  before  suddenly  appearing,  rattling, 
white-covered,  apple-loaded  wagons,  driven  by  nonchalant 
drivers,  and  drawn  by  oxen  as  little  concerned  as  those  who 
hold  the  goad  or  pull  the  rope  fastened  to  their  horns  ;  the  only 
animateol  member  of  the  primitive  party  being  the  dog  which, 
in  the  confusion,  having  his  foot  trodden  upon  by  one  of  the 
reined-up,  prancing  horses,  awakes  the  welkin  with  his  cries  as 
he  drags  himself  into  a  blind  alley. 

Even  in  daytime  a  dance  is  going  on  in  the  Swannanoa  ball- 
room on  a  level  with  the  street.  The  strains  of  music  from  it 
.and  whirling  figures  seen  from  the  sidewalk,  will  be  enough  to 
clinch  the  opinion  that  you  are  in  a  gay  and  fashionable  sum- 
mer resort.  Every  week-day  night  dances  are  held  at  both 
the  Swannanoa  and  Eagle.  If  you  are  single,  there  is  little 
doubt  but  you  will  participate  in  this  revelry;  if  you  have 
lost  the  sprightliness1  of  youth  or  the  happy  chuckle  of  healthy 
later  life,  in  vain  you  may  tuck  your  head  under  the  pillow  and 
vent  your  empty  maledictions  upon  the  musicians  and  their 
lively  strains. 

There  are  a  number  of  pleasant  drives  out  of  Asheville.  One 
is  on  the  old  stage-road  leading  up  from  Henry's,  a  station  for 
a  few  years  the  terminus-of  the  slow-moving  construction  of 


344  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

the  railroad.  You  drive  or  walk  down  the  hill  towards  the 
south  by  houses  close  upon  the  road  and  several  rural  mansions 
back  in  natural  groves.  A  heavy  plank  bridge,  with  trees  lean 
ing  over  either  approach  to  it,  spans  the  slow,  noiseless  Swan- 
nanoa.  Instead  of  taking  the  bridge,  turn  sharp  to  the  left  and 
wind  with  the  smooth  road  along  the  stream.  There  is  a  rich 
pulseless  quiet  along  this  river  road  that  is  truly  delightful. 
At  places  the  vista  is  of  striking  tropical  character.  The  bril- 
liant trees,  their  flowing  green  draperies,  the  seemingly  motion- 
less river!  If  you  have  time,  you  can  follow  on  for  miles  until 
where  the  waters  are  noisy,  the  bed  shallow,  rhododendrons 
and  kalmia  fringe  its  banks  and  the  gradual  rise  of  the  country 
becomes  perceptible.  It  is  the  route  generally  taken  from  Ashe- 
ville  to  the  Black  mountains.  .  Another  drive  is  to  the  White 
Sulphur  Springs,  four  miles  from  the  city.  The  way  is  down 
the  steep  hill  on  the  west  to  the  French  Broad,  across  the  long 
bridge,  and  by  the  village  of  Silver  Springs,  wvhere  lately  a 
comfortable  hotel  has  been  erected.  The  lands  of  this  village 
being  level,  close  on  the  river  bank  and  connected  by  the 
bridge  at  the  depot,  afford  excellent  sites  for  manufactories. 
The  road  now  leads  up  a  winding  ascent,  around  the  outskirts 
of  Takeoskee  farm  (the  extensive  grounds,  overlooking  the 
river,  of  a  wealthy  Asheville  citizen),  through  woods  and  culti 
vated  lands  to  the  Spring  farm. 

Big  Craggy  is  an  objective  point  for  the  tourist.  The  easiest 
route  to  it  is  via  the  road  towards  Burnsville  and  then  up 
Ream's  creek,  making  a  morning's  drive.  A  carriage  can  be 
be  taken  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

A  portion  of  the  old  stage  road  to  Warm  Springs  is  an 
inviting  drive.  It  runs  north  from  the  court-house,  over  the 
hills  and  then  down  the  French  Broad.  Exquisite  landscape 
pictures  lie  along  the  ancient  thoroughfare.  The  country  resi 
dence  of  General  Vance  will  be  passed  on  the  way.  Peaceful 


An  Animated  Hub.  345 

farm-houses,  surrounded  by  green  corn  lands,  yellow  wheat 
fields,  clover-covered  steeps,  and  dark  woods,  will  file  by  in 
panoramic  succession.  As  late  as  1882,  the  stages  pursuing  this 
road  were  the  only  regular  means  of  conveyance  from  Asheville 
to  Marshal  and  Warm  Springs.  The  road  was  as  rough  as  it 
was  picturesque.  From  the  fact  of  its  being  hugged  for  miles 
by  the  river  and  beetling  cliffs,  this  could  not  have  been  other- 
wise. At  times  the  horses  and  wheels  of  the  stage  splashed  in 
the  water  of  the  river  where  it  had  overflown  the  stone  cause- 
ways ;  again,  boulders,  swept  up  by  a  recent  freshet,  rendered 
traveling  almost  impossible.  A  considerable  portion  of  the 
road  has  been  appropriated  for  the  bed  of  the  railroad,  and  all 
that  was  once  seen  from  a  stage-top  can  now  with  more  com- 
fort be  looked  upon  from  a  car  window. 

Sixteen  miles  west  of  Asheville  is  a  model  country  hotel,  at 
Turnpike.  For  long  years  it  was  the  noonday  stopping  place 
for  the  stages  on  the  way  from  Asheville  to  Waynesville.  Since 
the  railroad  began  operation  it  has  become  a  station,  and  when 
we  last  came  through  from  the  West  it  was  the  breakfast  place 
for  the  passengers.  It  is  situated  at  the  head  of  Hominy  val- 
ley, amid  pleasant  mountain  surroundings.  John  C.  Smathers, 
the  genial,  rotund  proprietor,  will,  with  his  pleasant  wife  ^nd 
daughters,  render  the  tourist's  stay  so  agreeable  that  the  in- 
tended.week  of  sojourn  here  may  be  lengthened  into  a  month. 
John  G.  is  a  representative  country  man.  W'hat  place  he 
actually  fills  in  the  small  settlement  at  Turnpike,  can  be  best 
illustrated  by  giving  the  reported  cross-examination  which  he 
underwent  one  day  at  the  hands  of  an  inquisitive  traveler : 

"Mr.  Smathers,"  said  this  traveler,  "are  you  the  proprietor 
of  this  hotel?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  is  postmaster  here?" 

"I  am." 


346  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

"  Who  keeps  the  store  ?  " 

"I  do." 

' '  Who  runs  the  blacksmith  shop  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"How  about  the  mill  ?  " 

"  Ditto." 

"  Anything  else?  " 

"  Well,  I  have  something  of  a  farm,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  And  as  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  pillar  in  the  Methodist  church  ;  the  father  of  thir- 
teen children  ;  and  my  sons  and  sons-in-law  just  about  run  the 
neighboring  county-seat." 

With  a  low  whistle  the  traveler  surveyed  John  C.  from  head 
to  foot. 

The  trip  from  Asheville  to  Hendersonville,  Caesar's  Head, 
and  the  mountains  of  Transylvania  should  not  be  omitted  by 
the  tourist.  The  first  place  you  pass,  on  the  State  road,  ten 
miles  from  your  starting  point,  and  twelve  from  Hendersonville, 
is  Arden  Park.  The  estate,  consisting  of  more  than  300  acres, 
is  owned  by  C.  W.  Beal.  The  unwooded  portion  is  well  im- 
proved and  under  a  good  state  of  cultivation.  Upon  an  elevation 
near  the  center  of  the  farm,  is  situated  the  residence  of  the 
proprietor,  and  near  it  the  commodious  buildings  of  Arden 
Park  hotel,  which  are  annually  open  for  the  reception  of  guests 
during  the  summer  months. 

Surrounded  by  the  ordinary  scenes  of  rural  farm  life,  this 
hotel  partakes  more  of  the  character  of  a  country  house  than 
any  other  in  Western  North  Carolina.  The  view  from  the  front 
veranda  is  over  an  expanse  of  undulating  fields,  stretching  down 
to  the  French  Broad  and  rising  beyond ;  and  is  bounded  in  the 
distance  by  massive  spurs  of  the  high  Pisgah  mountains,  be- 
hind which  the  sun  hides  itself  at  evening.  More  than  100 
acres  of  the  estate  is  in  the  native  forest,  making,  with  its  wind- 


Hendersonville.  347 

ing  roads  and  paths,  a  pleasant  park.  The  river,  only  one  mile 
distant,  will  afford  the  angler  an  opportunity  to  utilize  his  skill 
and  the  more  idle  pleasure-seeker  many  an  interesting  stroll. 

The  park  is  richly  favored  with  springs,  both  of  mineral  and 
soft  freestone  water.  A  chalybeate  spring,  near  the  hotel,  has 
been  analyzed,  and  found  almost  identical  in  its  properties  with 
the  famed  ' '  Sweetwater,"  in  Virginia.  The  interior  of  the 
main  building  is  peculiarly  attractive.  The  parlor,  hall,  and 
reception  room  are  finished  in  handsome  designs  with  native 
woods — chestnut,  oak,  and  pine. 

On  the  main  thoroughfare,  one  mile  from  the  hotel,  is  the  vil- 
lage of  Arden,  laid  out  a  few  years  since  by  Mr.  Beal.  Upon 
completion  of  the  Spartanburg  and  Asheville  railroad,  it  will 
be  the  intermediate  station  between  Hendersonville  and  Ashe- 
ville. At  present  both  village  and  hotel  are  dependent  upon 
the  daily  stage  line. 

The  visitor  to  Arden  hotel  will  find  it  a  pleasant  home-like 
place.  Its  surroundings  are  beautiful,  but  not  grand.  It  will 
be  found  an  agreeable  place  to  rest  and  enjoy  the  comforts  of 
wholesome  country  living.  A  large  percentage  of  the  company 
the  past  two  seasons  came  from  the  coast  regions  of  South  Car 
olina. 

Hendersonville  is  the  hub  of  the  upper  French  Broad  region. 
This  prosperous  village,  the  second  in  size  west  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  is  situated  on  the  terminus  of  a  ridge  which  projects  into 
the  valley  of  the  Ochlawaha,  and  overlooks  a  wide  stretch  of 
low  bottom  lying,  within  a  circle  of  mountains.  When  the 
county  was  formed  in  1838,  a  point  on  the  river  six  miles  dis- 
tant was  designated  as  the  site  of  the  seat  of  justice,  but  a 
more  central  location  was  generally  desired,  and  accordingly 
the  law  was  amended  two  years  later  and  the  seat  removed  to 
Hendersonville. 

The  town  has  a  cheerful  appearance.     The  main   street  is 


348  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

wide  and  well  shaded  by  three  rows  of  trees,  one  on  each  side 
and  one  through  the  center.  Several  of  the  business  houses 
are  substantially  and  artistically  built  of  brick,  giving  the 
stranger  a  favorable  opinion  of  the  thrift  and  enterprise  of  the 
merchants.  A  number  of  handsome  residences  give  additional 
evidence  of  prosperity. 

The  population  of  Hendersonville  numbers  about  one  thou- 
sand. Seventeen  stores  transact  the  mercantile  business,  and 
five  hotels  keep  open  doors  to  the  traveling  public.  As  in  all 
resort  towns,  private  boarding  houses  are  numerons.  The 
moral  and  educational  interests  of  the  community  are  minis- 
tered to  by  churches,  a  public  school,  and  an  academy  of  more 
than  local  reputation. 

There  seems  to  be  a  harmony  of  effort  among  the  citizens  to 
make  the  stay  of  strangers  pleasant,  by  furnishing  them  both 
information  and  entertainment.  Several  mountains  in  the  vicin- 
ity afford  extensive  landscape  views.  "Stony,"  four  miles 
distant,  commands  the  whole  Ochlawaha  valley  and  a  wide 
sweep  of  the  curving  French  Broad.  The  country  embraced 
within  the  view  from  Mount  Hebron  is  more  rugged  and 
broken.  A  good  standpoint  from  which  to  view  the  village, 
valley,  and  bordering  mountains  is  Dun  Cragin,  the  residence 
of  H.  G.  Ewart,  Esq.  Thirteen  miles  of  plateau  and  valley 
intervene  between  that  point  and  Sugar  Loaf;  Bear  Wallow  is 
about  the  same  distance ;  Shaking  Bald  twenty-five  miles  away, 
and  Tryon  twen"ty-one.  A  part  of  the  view  is  represented  by 
the  illustration  on  page  135. 

Sugar  Loaf  mountain,  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  points 
seen  from  Hendersonville,  has  associated  with  it  an  historical 
legend  of  revolutionary  times.  The  Mills  family,  living  below 
the  Ridge,  were  noted  tory  leaders.  Colonel  Mills  and  his 
brother  William  were  both  engaged  on  the  royalist  side  in  the 
battle  of  King's  Mountain.  The  former  was  captured,  and 


Dizzy  Railroading — Flat  Rock.  349 

• 

afterward  hanged  by  the  patriot  commanders  at  Guilford  C.  H. 
The  latter  escaped,  with  a  wound  in  the  heel,  and  made  his 
home  in  a  cave  in  the  side  of  Sugar  Loaf,  living  on  wild  meats, 
and  sleeping  on  a  bed  of  leaves.  There  he  remained  till  the 
close  of  the  war  when,  his  property  having  been  confiscated, 
he  entered  land  in  the  French  Broad  valley,  and  became  one  of 
its  earliest  settlers.  In  the  cave  there  are  still  found  evidences 
of  its  ancient  occupancy — coals,  charred  sticks,  and  bones. 

Hendersonville  is  reached  by  two  routes — by  stage,  from 
Asheville,  and  by  rail  from  Spartanburg,  on  the  Air  Line.  The 
latter  road,  the  usual  course  of  travel  from  the  south,  in  making 
the  ascent  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  does  not  circle  and  wind  as  does 
the  Western  North  Carolina;  but  its  grade,  at  places,  is  almost 
frightful.  One  mile  of  track  overcomes  300  feet  of  elevation. 
One  bold,  symmetrical  peak  is  in  view  from  the  train  windows 
during  most  of  the  journey,  and  from  several  points  of  interest 
in  the  upper  valley.  Tryon  mountain  may  be  styled  the  twin 
of  Pisgah,  and  both,  in  shape,  resemble  the  pyramids  of  Egypt 
From  Captain  Tom's  residence,  in  Hendersonville,  both  may 
be  seen,  in  opposite  directions.  Tryon  preserves  the  name  of 
the  most  tyrannical  and  brutal  of  North  Carolina's  colonial 
governors.  It  was  his  conduct,  in  attempting  to  destroy  the 
instincts  of  freedom,  which  precipitated  the  Mecklenburg  declara- 
tion of  independence  in  17/5. 

The  Spartanburg  and  Asheville  railroad  at  present  terminates 
at  Hendersonville.  It  is  partially  graded  to  Asheville,  and 
there  is  some  prospect  of  its  early  completion. 

The  attractions  of  this  section  of  the  grand  plateau  of  the 
Alleghanies,  was  made  known  to  the  coast  residents  of  South 
Carolina  about  the  year  1820.  Four  years  after  that  date, 
Daniel  Blake,  of  Charleston,  pioneered  the  way  from  the  low 
country,  and  built  a  summer  residence  on  Cane  creek.  Charles 
Bering  was  the  founder  of  the  Flat  Rock  settlement,  in  the 


35O  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

year  1828,  and  made  a  purchase  of  land,  built  a  summer  resi- 
dence, about  four  miles  from  the  site  of  the  present  county-seat 
and  near  the  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  His  example  was  fol- 
lowed by  Mitchell  King  and  C.  S.  Memminger,  Sr.,  a  year  or 
two  later.  The  community  soon  became  famous  for  refine- 
ment, and  the  place  for  healthfulness  of  climate  and  beauty  of 
scenery. 

The  Flat  Rock  valley  is  about  two  miles  wide  and  four  miles 
long,  reaching  from  the  Ochlawha  to  the  crest  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  and  may  be  described  as  an  undulating  plain.  It  em- 
braced, before  the  war,  about  twenty  estates,  among  others  the 
country  seats  of  Count  de  Choiseue,  the  French  consul-general, 
and  E.  Molyneux,  the  British  consul-general.  The  valley, 
until  recently,  was  reached  in  carriages  by  the  low  country  peo- 
ple. 

At  the  opening  of  summer  the  planter  or  merchant  and  his 
family,  taking  along  the  entire  retinue  of  domestic  servants, 
started  for  the  cool,  rural  home  in  the  highlands,  where  the 
luxurious  living  of  the  coast  was  maintained,  to  which  addi- 
tional gaiety  and  freedom  was  given  by  the  invigorating  climate 
and  wildness  of  surroundings.  Carriages  and  four,  with  liveried 
drivers,  thronged  the  public  highways.  The  Flat  Rock  settle- 
ment brought  the  highest  development  of  American  civiliza- 
tion into  the  heart  of  one  of  the  most  picturesque  regions  of 
the  American  continent.  Wealthy  and  cultured  audiences  as- 
sembled at  St.  John's 'church  on  each  summer  Sabbath.  The 
magnificence  of  the  ante-war  period  is  no  longer  maintained;  the 
number  of  aristocratic  families  has  decreased,  and  some  of  the 
residences  show  the  dilapidations  of  time ;  yet  a  refined  and 
sociable  air  pervades  the  place,  which,  with  the  recollections  of 
the  past,  makes  it  an  interesting  locality  to  visit.  All  who  may 
have  occasion  to  stop,  will  find  a  good  hotel  and  hospitable 


Buck  Forest  ci)id  C&sars  Head.  351 

entertainment  at  the  hands  of  Henry  Faunce,  Esq.,  an  eccentric 
but  interesting  landlord  of  the  old  school. 

P>om  Hendersonville  to  Buck  Forest  is  twenty  miles  over  a 
fair  road.  This  place  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
hills  and  mountains  in  the  vicinity  are  reported  to  abound  in 
deer.  Of  late  years  the  amount  of  game  has  been  rapidly  de- 
creasing, but  even  yet  a  well-organized  and  well-conducted  chase 
is  seldom  barren  of  results.  Buck  Forest  hotel  is  an  old-fash- 
ioned frame  house,  situated  in  the  midst  of  wild  and  inviting 
scenery.  The  traveler  will  recognize  the  place  by  the  sign  of 
an  immense  elk  horn  on  a  post,  and  by  a  line  of  deer  heads  and 
buck  antlers  under  the  full  length  veranda. 

From  Hendersonville  to  Caesar's  Head  is  twenty  miles. 
There  are  two  roads — one  up  the  valley  of  Green  river,  and  the 
other  to  Little  river,  thence  up  that  stream  through  Jones'  gap. 
Caesar's  Head  is  also  reached  by  stages  from  Greenville,  South 
Carolina,  on  the  Air  Line  railroad,  distant  twenty-four  miles. 
The  Little  River  road  leads  through  the  picturesque  valley  of 
the  upper  French  Broad  region.  After  traversing  wide  and 
fertile  alluvions,  the  road  enters,  between  close  mountain  slopes, 
a  narrow  gorge,  through  which  the  river,  for  a  distance  of  four 
miles,  rushes  and  roars  in  a  continuous  succession  of  sparkling 
cascades  and  rapids.  The  most,  noted  point  is  Bridal  Veil 
falls,  so  named  from  the  silvery  appearance  of  the  spray  in 
sunlight.  It  is  not  a  sheer  fall,  but  an  almost  vertical  rapid 
with  numerous  breaks.  On  a  bright  day  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow play  between  the  canon  walls. 

Caesar's  Head  is  a  place  about  which  much  has  been  written, 
but  no  pen  can  describe  the  overpowering  effect  of  the  view 
from  that  precipice.  I  shall  attempt  to  give  only  a  few  outlines 
to  enable  the  reader,  by  the  aid  of  his  imagination,  to  form 
some  idea  of  the  bold  and  broken  character  of  this  part  of  the 
Blue  Ridge. 


352  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

One  evening  in  August  I  crossed  the  state  line  through  Jones 
gap,  and  rode  along  the  backbone  of  the  spur.  A  dark  cloud 
had  mantled  the  mountain  tops  all  the  afternoon.  So  dense 
was  it,  that  the  deep  gorge  of  Little  river  had  the  appearance 
of  a  tunnel,  reverberating  monotonously  with  the  sound  of 
falling  waters.  On  the  south  side  of  the  ridge  the  cloud  clung 
to  the  ground,  making  it  impossible  during  the  last  three  miles 
of  the  ride  to  see  ten  feet  in  any  direction.  No 'rain  was  falling, 
yet  drops  of  water  were  soon  trickling  down  the  saddle  and 
the  chill  of  moisture  penetrated  my  clothing.  It  was  fast 
growing  dark  when  a  sound  of  laughter  signaled  the  end  of  the 
journey.  The  indistinct  outline  of  a  large  white  house  appeared 
a  moment  later,  and  on  the  long  veranda  sat  numerous  groups 
of  men  and  women. 

My  thoroughly  dampened  condition  must  have  appealed  to 
the  sympathies  of  the  manager  of  the  hotel,  for  I  had  scarcely 
entered  my  room  when  a  servant  appeared  at  the  door  with  a 
tray  of  needed  stimulants,  after  the  fashion  of  the  hospitable 
southern  planter.  Every  attention  was  bestowed  upon  me, 
and  a  short  time  after  I  was  in  as  agreeable  a  condition  as  I 
have  ever  been  before  or  since.  In  the  journal  for  the  day, 
written  up  that  evening,  is  this  concluding  sentence,  which  I 
had  no  inclination  to  change  afterwards:  "This  establishment 
is  managed  by  a  man  who  knows  his  business,  and  is  liberal 
enough  to  give  his  guests  what  they  have  a  reasonable  right  to 
expect." 

At  daybreak  I  joined  Judge  Presley,  of  Summerville,  who 
has  spent  nine  summers  here  and  knows  the  surroundings  per- 
fectly. From  an  eminence  near  the  hotel,  the  peaks  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  and  its  spurs  can  be  counted  for  tens  of  miles  in 
both  directions,  those  in  the  distance  resembling  in  the  morning 
light,  parapets  of  massive  castle  walls.  "Do  you  see,"  said  the 
Judge,  pointing  in  a  northeasterly  direction,  "that  oval  line 


BOLD    HEADLANDS. 
Table  Rock  and  Caesar's  Head, 


On  the  Brink  of  the  Precipice.  355 

against  the  sky  ?  That  is  King's  mountain,  on  the  border  of  the 
state,  seventy  miles  from  here.  Now,  look  the  other  way,  be- 
tween yon  pyramid-shaped  peaks.  There  you  see  what  might 
be  a  cloud.  It  is  Stone  mountain,  near  Atlanta,  Georgia,  1 10 
miles  distant.  You  have  overlooked  an  expanse  of  180  miles 
of  country." 

It  was  still  clear  when,  an  hour  later,  our  party  arrived  at  the 
ledge  of  rock  called  Caesar's  Head.  A  strong  imagination  is 
required  to  see  any  resemblance  in  the  profile  to  a  man's  head, 
much  less  to  a  Roman's  of  the  heroic  type.  We  are  inclined 
to  believe  the  story  told  by  a  mountaineer.  An  old  man  in  the 
vicinity  had  a  dog  named  Caesar,  whose  head  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  rock,  and  being  desirous  to  commemorate 
his  dog,  the  appellation,  "Caesar's  Head, "  was  given  to  the 
rock.  But  this  is  a  point  not  likely  to  be  considered  by  the 
tourist,  first  dizzied  by  a  glance  down  the  precipice  into  the 
"  Dismal  "  1,600  feet  below.  The  view  is  strikingly  suggestive 
of  the  ocean.  Our  standpoint  was  almost  a  third  of  a  mile 
above  the  green  plain  of  upper  South  Carolina,  its  wave-like 
corrugations  extending  to  the  horizon  line.  Patches  of  foamy 
white  clouds  jostled  about  the  surface,  and  above  them,  white 
caps  floated  upon  the  breeze.  The  breaker-like  roar  of  cataracts, 
at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  completed  the  deception.  Bold- 
est and  most  picturesque  of  the  numerous  precipitous  head- 
lands, is  Table  Rock,  six  miles  distant  There  are  several  glens 
and  waterfalls  in  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel,  numerous  walks  lead- 
ing to  views  of  mountain  scenery,  and  drives  through  solitary 
glens.  The  view  from  the  top  of  Rich  mountain  is  broadest  in 
its  scope,  taking  in  the  Transylvania  valley.  The  "Dismal," 
that  is,  the  apparent  pit  into  which  you  look  from  the  "  Head," 
may  be  reached  by  a  circuitous  route,  but  the  labor  of  getting 
there  will  be  rewarded  only  by  disappointment.  I  spent  a  fore- 
noon climbing  down  and  an  afternoon  climbing  out.  It  is  a 


356  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

good  place  for  bears  to  hibernate  and  snakes  to  sun  themselves, 
nothing  more.  I  was  reminded,  by  this  foolish  exploit,  of  a 
paragraph  from  Mark  Twain : 

"In  order  to  make  a  man  or  boy  covet  anything,  it  is  only  necessary  to  make  the  thing 
difficult  to  attain.  .  .  Work  consists  of  whatever  a  body  is  obliged  to  do,  and  play 
consists  in  whatever  a  body  is  not  obliged  to  do.  This  is  why  performing  on  a  treadmill, 
or  constructing  artificial  flowers  is  work,  while  rolling  tenpins  or  climbing  Mount  Blanc  is 
only  amusement.  There  are  wealthy  gentlemen  in  England  who  drive  four-horse  passen- 
ger coaches,  twenty  or  thirty  miles  on  a  daily  line,  in  summer,  because  the  privilege  costs 
them  considerable  money,  but  if  they  were  offered  wages  for  the  service  that  would  turn 
it  into  work,  and  then  they  would  resign." 

Brevard,  the  capital  town  of  Transylvania,  is  a  center  from 
which  to  make  several  short  journeys  to  scenic  points.  In 
reaching  it  from  Caesar's  Head,  take  the  Conestee  road,  which 
runs  over  an  undulating  plateau  declining  gently  from  the  base 
of  the  hills  which  mark  the  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  then 
down  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  Conestee  fork.  There  are  few 
houses  to  mar  the  wild  beauty  of  nature.  Seven  miles  from 
Brevard  is  the  waterfall  bearing  the  name  of  the  stream.  The 
ruin  of  a  primitive  mill  is  the  perfect  complement  of  the  natural 
picturesqueness  of  the  scene.  The  road  finally  descends  into  a 
narrow  bottom,  which  gradually  widens  until  it  is  lost  in  the 
broad  stretch  of  the  level  valley  of  the  main  stream. 

The  village  of  Brevard  consists  of  about  fifty  houses.  It  is 
situated  a  short  distance  from  the  French  Broad.  The  distance 
from  Asheville  is  thirty-two  miles ;  from  Hendersonville,  the 
nearest  railroad  point,  a  third  less.  One  of  the  most  noted 
places  reached  from  Brevard  is  Shining  Rock,  seen  from  moun- 
tain tops  thirty  miles  distant.  It  consists  of  an  immense  preci- 
pice of  white  quartz,  which  glistens  in  the  sunlight  like  silver. 
The  precipice  is  600  feet  high  and  about  a  mile  long.  Parties 
will  find  protection  from  a  passing  storm,  or  if  need  be  over 
night,  in  a  cave  near  the  base  of  the  mountain. 

The  road  from  Brevard  to  Hendersonville  runs  through  the 
widest  part  of  the  French  Broad  valley,  and  part  of  the  way 


I  Become  a  "Moonshiner" 

follows  the  river  bank.  The  Government  has  expended  $44,000 
in  deepening  and  straightening  the  channel  between  the  mouth 
of  Ochlawaha  creek  and  Brevard.  The  result  is  a  sixteen  inch 
channel  for  a  distance  of  seventeen  miles.  A  small  boat  makes 
semi-weekly  excursion  trips  during  the  summer  months.  It 
was  once  pushed  as  far  up  as  Brevard,  but  in  ordinary  stages 
of  water,  twelve  miles  above  the  land  ng  is  the  limit  of  naviga- 
tion. The  road  from  Brevard  to  Asheville,  is  through  the  val- 
ley of  Boylston,  at  the  mouth  of  Mill's  river,  and  around  the 
base  of  long  projecting  spurs  of  Pisgah. 

When  near  Brevard,  just  four  years  ago,  while  Redmond, 
the  famous  moonshiner,  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  and  a  little 
blockading  was  still  going  on  in  the  Balsams,  I  made  a  mid- 
night journey,  the  details  of  which  may  be  of  general  interest. 
One  afternoon,  during  a  deer  drive  through  the  wilds  and  over 
the  rugged  heights  of  the  Tennessee  Bald,  I  advanced  far 
enough  in  my  month's  acquaintance  with  a  fellow,  Joe  Harran, 
to  learn  that  he  was  formerly  a  distiller,  and  even  then  was  act- 
ing as  a  carrier  of  illicit  whisky  from  a  hidden  still  to  his  neigh- 
bors. 

After  the  hunt,  as  we  walked  toward  my  boarding-place,  I 
expressed  a  wish  to  go  with  him  on  a  moonshine  expedition. 
He  readily  agreed  to  take  me.  We  were  to  go  that  night. 

I  retired  early  to  my  room,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  a 
ten-hour  sleep.  At  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  rap  at  my  door, 
and  a  moment  after  Harran  was  inside.  He  had  a  bundle  under 
his  arm,  which  he  Bossed  on  the  bed.  Said  he : 

"The  clothes  ye  hev  on  air  tu  fine  fer  this  trip.  My  pards 
mout  tak'  ye  fer  a  revenoo,  an'  let  a  hole  thro'  ye.  Put  on 
them  thar, "  and  he  pointed  to  the  articles  he  had  brought  with 
him. 

"Is  it  necessary?  " 

"In   course.     Ef  hit  war'nt,    I   wouldn't  say  so.      Ef   ye'r 


358  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

goin'  moonshinin',  ye  must  be  like  a  moonshiner.  Hurry  an' 
jump  in  the  duds,  fer  we've  got  nigh  onto  seven  mile  ter  go  ter 
git  to  the  still,  an'  ef  we  don't  make  tracks,  the  daylight  '11 
catch  us  afore  we  gits  back." 

I  took  off  an  ordinary  business  suit,  and  a  short  space  after 
stood  transformed  into  what  appeared  to  me  a  veritable  moun- 
taineer, after  the  manner  of  Harran,  except  that  my  friend  had 
granted  me  a  tattered  coat  to  cover  the  rough  shirt,  and  my 
pants  were  not  tucked  in  my  boots,  because  the  latter  were  not 
exactly  of  the  pattern  most  suitable  for  the  occasion. 

"  I  reckon  ye'll  do,  tho'  ye  don't  look  ez  rough  ez  ye  mout 
ef  yer  har  war  long  ;  but  pull  the  brim  o'  the  hat  down  over 
yer  eyes,  an'  I  'low  when  I  tell  'em  yer  a  'stiller  from  Cocke 
county,  over  the  line,  they'll  believe  hit,  shore." 

We  went  outside,  climbed  the  rail  fence,  and  found  ourselves 
in  the  road. 

"  Hold  up,"  said  Harran,  "we  mustn't  fergit  these  things," 
and  from  a  brush  pile  he  drew  out  two  enormous  jugs  and  a 
blanket. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  I,  in  amazement,  as  he  stood 
before  me  with  a  jug  in  each  hand,  "  that  you  intend  carrying 
those  things  seven  miles,  and  then  bring  them  back  that  dis- 
tance filled  with  whisky  !  " 

"  In  course.  I  mean  that  they're  goin'  to  the  still  an'  back 
with  us,  but  I  don't  reckon  me  or  you  are  goin'  to  tote  em." 

"What  then?" 

"Wait  an'  see." 

We  wound  along  the  crooked  valley  road  for  several  rods, 
until,  in  front  of  a  cabin,  my  companion  stopped,  sat  down  his 
jugs,  and  unwound  from  his  waist  something  that  looked  like  a 
bridle. 

"  Hist !  "  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  reckon  they  be  all  asleep 


On  a  Stolen  Horse.  359 

in  the  house.  Jist  ye  stay  hyar,  an'  I'll  catch  the  filly  in  yan 
lot." 

This  was  more  than  I  had  bargained  for.  The  expedition  we 
were  on  was  bad  enough,  but  horse-stealing  was  a  crime  of  too 
positive  a  kind.  Of  course  I  knew  Harran  only  intended  to 
borrow  the  horse  for  the  evening,  but  if  we  were  caught  with 
the  animal  in  our  possession,  and  going  in  an  opposite  direction 
from  the  owner's  farm,  what  was  simply  a  misdemeanor,  might, 
from  attendant  circumstances,  be  construed  into  a  crime  to 
which  no  light  penalty  was  attached.  But  Harran  was  over 
the  fence  and  had  the  filly  in  charge  before  I  could  prevent  him. 
Talking  was  then  of  no  use.  He  had  done  the  same  thing  a 
hundred  times  before.  He  said  there  was  no  danger.  I  was 
not  convinced,  but,  having  started,  I  determined  to  proceed,  let 
come  what  might.  He  let  down  the  rails  of  the  fence,  led  the 
filly  through,  threw  the  blanket  over  her  back,  and,  tying  the 
jugs,  by  their  handles,  to  the  ends  of  a  strap,  slung  them  over 
the  blanket.  ' 

"Now  git  up  an'  ride  'er,"  said  he,  "an'  I'll  walk  fer  the 
first  few  mile."  * 

"No  riding  for  me  until  I  get  out  of  this  locality,"  I  an- 
swered. "  I  have  no  intention  of  being  seen  by  chance  travelers 
on  a  stolen  horse,  with  two  demijohns  hanging  before  me,  and 
in  the  company  of  a  moonshiner.  It  would  be  a  little  too  suspi- 
cious, and  next  fall  there  might  be  a  case  in  court  in  which  I 
would  be  the  most  important  party.  You  may  ride." 

Harran  laughed  Ibng  and  rather  too  loudly  for  safety;  but  see- 
ing I  was  in  earnest,  he  mounted.  We  started.  It  was  a  clear, 
moonlight  night.  The  air  was  just  cool  enough  to  be  comfort- 
able. We  followed  the  country  road  for  four  miles  without 
meeting  a  person,  and  only  being  barked  at  once  by  a  farmer's 
dog;  then  we  turned  into  a  narrow  trail  through  a  dense  chest- 
nut forest.  At  this  point  my  fellow  traveler  dismounted  and  I 


360  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

filled  his  place.  He  walked  ahead,  leading  the  way  along  the 
shaded  aisles,  while  after  him  I  jogged  with  the  two  jugs  rub- 
bing my  knees  with  every  step  the  horse  made.  We  were  to 
ascend  and  cross  the  ridge  that  rose  before  us,  and  then  wind 
down  through  the  ravines  on  the  opposite  slope  until  we  reached 
the  still.  The  top  was  gained  by  a  steep  climb  of  two  miles, 
during  part  of  which  ascent  the  filly  carried  nothing  but  the 
earthenware  luggage.  On  the  summit  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
dense  balsam  forest. 

Down  the  opposite  side,  as  we  descended,  even  with  the 
bright  light  of  a  full  moon  overhead,  we  were  surrounded  by  a 
darkness,  formed  by  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  that  made  the 
path  almost  imperceptible  to  me.  Harran  seemed  to  have  no 
trouble  in  tracing  it. 

"Almost  thar, "  said  the  moonshiner,  as  he  slapped  my  leg, 
while  the  filly  stopped  for  a  drink  at  a  cold,  bubbling  stream 
coursing  along  the  roots  of  the  laurel :  ' '  Now,  swar  by  God 
and  all  thet'%  holy,  ye'll  never  breathe  to  a  livin'  soul  the  where- 
abouts o'  this  hyar  place." 

I  swore,  reserving  at  the  same  time  all  an  author's  rights  of 
revelation  except  as  to  the  whereabouts. 

"The  spot's  not  a  hundred  yards  from  hyar." 

We  turned  into  a  ravine,  and  went  upward  along  the  stream. 
The  sides  of  the  ravine  grew  steeper.  Suddenly  I  heard  a 
coarse  laugh,  then  caught  a  glimmer  of  fire-light,  and  by  its 
blaze,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  the  mountain  still  of 
an  illicit  distiller.  We  paused  for  a  moment  and  Harran 
whistled  three  times  shrilly. 

' '  All  right.  Come  ahead !  "  yelled  some  one.  A  minute  later, 
obedient  to  this  return  signal,  we  had  stopped  at  our  destina- 
tion. The  ravine  had  narrowed,  and  the  sides  were  much 
steeper  and  higher.  The  place  was  well  shut  in.  An  open 
shed,  roofed,  and  with  one  side  boarded,  stood  before  us. 


At  an  Illicit  Still.  361 

Within  it  was  a  low  furnace  throwing  out  the  light  of  a  hot 
fire.  Over  the  furnace  was  a  copper  still,  capable  of  holding 
twenty-five  gallons.  Several  wash-tubs,  a  cold  water  hogshead, 
and  two  casks,  evidently  containing  corn  in  a  diluted  state, 
stood  around  under  the  roof.  Close  to  this  still-house  was  a 
little  log  cabin.  The  two  distillers,  who  greeted  our  arrival, 
ate  and  slept  within  this  latter  domicil.  The  smoke  from  the 
still  curled  up  through  the  immense  balsams  and  hemlocks 
that  almost  crossed  themselves  over  the  top  of  the  ravine. 

The  two  distillers  looked  smoky  and  black,  and  smelled 
strongly  of  the  illicit.  They,  like  my  friend,  were  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  and  dressed  as  he  was.  Their  hats  were  off,  and 
their  long  brown  locks  shaking  loosely  over  their  ears  and 
grizzled  faces,  gave  them  a  barbarous  appearance. 

"We  'lowed  ye  would'nt  come,  Joe,  afore  to-morrer  night. 
Who've  ye  got  thar  on  the  filly?"  inquired  one  of  the  pair. 

' 'He?  thet's  John  Shales,  a  kin  o'  mine.  He's  started  up  a 
still  over'n  the  side,  an'  not  knowin'  exact  how  tu  run  hit,  he 
kum  along  with  me  tu  see  yer's  an'  pick  up  a  bit,"  answered 
Harran  by  way  of  introduction,  as  I  jumped  from  the  horse, 
and  he,  removing  the  jugs,  tied  the  animal  to  a  post  of  the 
still. 

"Thet's  all  right.  Glad  to  see  yer,"  said  the  first  speaker  in 
a  hearty,  good-natured  voice,  extending  his  hand  to  me  for  a 
fraternal  grasp,  which  he  received,  continuing  at  the  same  time, 
"My  name's  Mont  Ciller." 

"And  mine's  Bob  Daves,"  sang  out  the  second  of  the  pair 
as  he  clinched  my  hand. 

"  Hev  ye  enny  o'  the  dew  ready  fer  my  jugs,  an'  fer  my 
throat,  which  is  ez  dry  ez  a  bald  mounting?"  asked  Harran. 

"I  reckon  we  kin  manage  to  set  yer  off,"  answered  Daves. 

One  of  the  casks  in  the  shed  was  tipped,  a  plug  drawn  from 
its  top,  and  a  stream  like  the  purest  spring  water  gushed  into 


362  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

a  pail  set  below  it.  This  was  whiskey.  The  jugs  were  filled. 
Each  of  us  then  imbibed  from  a  rusty  tin  dipper.  In  keeping 
with  my  assumed  character,  I  was  obliged  to  partake  with  them. 
We  took  it  straight,  my  companion  emptying  a  half-pint  of  the 
liquid  without  a  gurgle  of  disapproval  or  a  wink  of  his  eyes. 

While  the  men  worked  in  the  light  of  the  furnace  fire,  and 
talked  in  loud  tones  above  the  noise  of  the  running  water  flow- 
ing down  troughs  into  the  hogshead,  through  which  wound  the 
worm  from  the  copper  still,  I  listened  and  "  j'ined"  in  at  inter- 
vals, and  this  I  learned : 

One  of  the  men  was  a  widower,  the  other  a  bachelor.  It  was 
two  miles  down  that  side  of  the  mountain  to  a  road.  The  corn 
used  in  distilling  they  bought  at  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  cents 
per  bushel,  and  "toted"  it  or  brought  it  on  mule-back  up  the 
trail  to  the  still.  They  had  no  occasion  to  take  the  whisky  be- 
low for  sale.  It  was  all  sold  on  the  spot  at  from  seventy-five 
cents  to  one  dollar  per  gallon,  according  to  the  price  of  corn, 
Those  who  came  after  the  liquor,  came,  as  we  had,  with  jugs, 
and  thereby  supplied  the  tipplers  in  the  valley,  usually  charg- 
ing a  quarter  of  a  dollar  extra  for  the  trip  up  and  back — noth- 
ing for  the  danger  incurred  by  dealing  in  it. 

The  older  man,  Giller,  I  noticed,  had  been  eyeing  me  rather 
suspiciously  for  some  time.  His  observation  made  me  rather 
uneasy.  At  last,  while  I  was  seated  on  a  large  log  before  the 
fire,  Giller  approached  me,  and,  as  though  by  accident,  brushed 
off  my  hat.  Not  thinking  what  he  was  up  to,  as  I  naturally 
would  do  I  turned  my  face  toward  him. 

"By—!"  exclaimed  he.  "Hit's  all  a  blasted  lie.  You're 
no  moonshiner.  You're  a  revenoo  ;  but  yer  tricked  right 
hyar." 

1  saw  a  big,  murderous-looking  pistol  in  his  hand  and  heard 
it  click.  I  suppose  I  threw  up  my  hands.  "Hold  on,  hold 


Antagonistic  to  "Revenoos"  363 

"Don't  shoot!  for  heaven's  sake,  man, 
don't  shoot!  it's  a  mistake." 

"Wai,  I  don't  know  'bout  thet.'  We'll  hev  Harran  explain 
this  thing  while  I  keep  a  bead  on  yer  head." 

Of  course,  Harran  and  the  other  moonshiner  were  by  us 
immediately. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mont,  yer  goin'  to  shoot  my 
cousin  ?  That's  a  perlite  way  to  treat  yer  comp'ny.  What  to 
hell  air  ye  up  to?" 

He  had  grabbed  the  excited  and  suspicious  moonshiner  by 
the  arm. 

"Let  go  'c  me,"  said  the  latter,  "I  know  thet  man  thar  is 
no  kin  o'  yours,  Joe  Harran.  He's  cl'ar  too  fine  a  sort  fer 
thet,  and  ef  ye  don't  prove  to  me  thet  he  haint  a  revenoo  an^ 
ye  haint  a  sneak,  I'll  shoot  him  first  an'  then  turn  ye  adrift 
on  the  same  road." 

Daves,  on  hearing  this  speech,  surveyed  me  critically  with 
an  unfavorable  result  for  myself,  and  then,  in  turn,  drew  a  horse 
pistol,  and  cocked  it  swearing  as  he  did  so. 

I  saw  the  game  was  up  as  far  as  my  being  John  Shales  was 
concerned,  so  I  decided  to  come  out  if  possible  in  true  colors, 
and  also  as  wholly  antagonistic  to  revenue  officers.  It  took 
some  time  for  an  explanation  ;  but  on  Harran's  vouching  in 
decidedly  strong  terms  as  to  the  truth  of  what  I  said,  they 
lowered,  uncocked  and  slipped  their  "  shootin'-irons"  into  their 
pockets. 

They  were  by  no  means  satisfied,  though,  and  we  left  them 
with  lowering  countenances  and  malicious  muttering,  against 
my  companion  for  daring  to  bring  a  stranger  into  their  camp. 

We  made  a  safe  trip  across  the  mountain,  and  at  2  o'clock  in 
the  morning  struck  the  road.  I  was  riding. 

"Hold  on  hyar,"  said  Harran. 

I  held  in  the*  horse.     We  were  before  an  unpretentious  farm- 


364  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

house.  The  moon  had  just  disappeared  behind  the  western 
ranges,  and  the  landscape  was  dark  and  uncomfortably  cheer- 
less, for  a  chill  wind  had  sprung  up.  Harran  went  up  to  the 
yard  fence,  reached  over  and  lifted  up  a  jug.  He  brought  it 
to  me,  shaking  it  as  he  did  so.  A  ringing  sound  came  from  it. 

"Thats  silver,"  said  he. 

*'  What  does  that  mean?"  I  inquired  in  a  curious  tone. 

"Why,"  he  returned,  while  he  turned  the  jug  upside  down 
in  his  hat  and  shook  it,  "here's  two  dollars  an'  a  half  in  dimes. 
I  reckon  thet  Winters  wants  two  gallon  o'  the  dew,  an'  this 
hoi's  two  gallon,  jist. "  He  said  he  'llowed  he'd  be  wantin' 
some  soon,  an  the  jug,  he  sed,  would  be  in  the  ole  place.  Ye 
see,  now,  he'll  find  hit  thar  in  the  mornin'  but  he'll  never  know 
how  hit  cum  thar,  or  who  tuk  his  money." 

"What  is  the  object  of  being  so  secret  about  it?" 

"Why,  what  ef  I'm  arrested,  an'  he's  hauled  up  ez  a  witness. 
What  kin  he  swar  to  about  buying  whiskey  o'  me?  Nothin'. 
He'll  hev  the  whiskey  all  the  same  though,  won't  he?  Ha,  ha!" 

He  filled  the  jug  and  four  others  on  the  way  down.  All  had 
money  with  them,  either  inside  or  lying  on  the  corn-cob  stop- 
per. It  was  a  cash  business.  At  the  proper  place  he  turned 
the  filly  in  the  barn  lot,  and  a  few  minutes  after  we  were  at  my 
boarding-house.  Before  we  parted  for  the  night — it  was  almost 
daylight — I  reckoned  up  for  him  his  account  of  purchases  and 
sales  for  the  expedition.  He  had  a  profit  in  his  favor  of  two 
dollars  and  a  quarter,  and  a  little  more  than  a  gallon  of  the 
"dew."  All  I  had  gained  was  experience. 

The  ride  from  Asheville  down  the  French  Broad  will  be  to 
the  stranger  a  revelation  of  the  beautiful  and  sublime.  For 
over  forty  miles  you  wind  through  the  pent-in  valley  of  the 
river,  losing  sight  of  its  current  only  in  one  or  two  instances, 
where,  for  a  short  space,  the  skirts  of  the  encroaching  moun- 
tains are  drawn  back,  and  the  track,  following' close  on  their 


Down  the  French  Broad.  365 

edges,  leaves  woods  or  bare  rolling  meadows  between  it  and  the 
stream.  On  account  of  the  newness  of  the  bed,  and  the  fre- 
quent sharp  curves,  the  speed  of  the  train  is  comparatively 
slow.  There  are  other  drawbacks  to  contend  against.  An 
amusing  incident,  in  which  several  minutes  of  time  were  lost, 
occurred  on  our  last  journey  down  the  river.  The  train  had 
just  attained  full  headway,  when  a  man  in  blue  jeans  arose  in  an 
excited  manner  from  his  seat,  near  us,  and,  grabbing  the  bell- 
cord,  pulled  it  in  desperation.  The  train  came  to  a  stand- 
still. The  conductor  rushed  in,  demanding  why  the  signal  had 
been  given. 

"  I  got  on  the  wrong  train,"  returned  the  countryman,  leis- 
urely gathering  up  his  satchel,  "and  I  wants  ter  git  off." 

The  conductor  turned  red  in  the  face,  and  amidst  the  laughter 
of  the  passengers,  assisted  the  man  to  make  his  departure  in  a 
hurried  manner. 

On  the  same  trip,  while  we  were  rounding  a  bend  below 
Warm  Springs,  the  hat  of  a  passenger  who  was  standing  on  the 
rear  platform,  was  blown  from  his  head.  The  train  was  stopped 
for  a  time  to  allow  the  unfortunate  man  to  run  back  and  find 
the  relic.  He  searched  until  he  found  it  and  then  regained  his 
place. 

For  several  miles  after  leaving  Asheville,  low,  undulating  hills, 
sloping  upward  from  the  river,  fill  the  landscapes.  The  water 
runs  deep  and  dark  around  these  bends,  and  no  rapids  of  any 
consequence  break  the  smooth  surface  of  the  stream  ;  but  as 
further  down  you  go,,  sweeping  along  over  the  rattling  rails, 
piles  of  huge  drift  logs,  and  clusters  of  Titanic  boulders  appear 
at  intervals,  and  the  country  becomes  wilder  and  more  rugged. 
The  foot-hills  begin  to  roll  higher,  and  with  steep,  stony  fronts 
staring  at  each  other  across  the  intervening  space  of  waters, 
resemble  the  severed  halves  of  hills  thus  rent  in  twain  by  the 
impetuous  river.  On,  on,  the  scenery  becomes  more  grandly 


366  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

wild  and  beautiful.  Now  passes  an  old-fashioned  country  farm- 
house— extensive  portico  bordering  the  front,  and  huge  brick 
chimneys  at  each  end — with  dingy  barn  ;  pine  log-cabins  fast 
falling  to  decay  around  it ;  rail-fences  encircling,  and  then 
meadows,  fields,  arid  forests  sweeping  back  on  three  sides.  The 
old  road  lies  before  the  fence,  and  a  stretch  of  white  sand, 
shaded  by  willows  and  alders,  comes  down  to  the  restless  river. 
Alexanders,  a  wayside  station,  has  long  been  known  as  a  sum- 
mer resort.  As  early  as  1826  a  hotel,  located  on  the  present 
building's  site,  was  the  onlv  tavern  between  Asheville  and  the 
Tennessee  line. 

The  old  man,  smoking  his  pipe  of  home-cured  tobacco,  and 
daily  seated  on  the  veranda,  has  not  yet  become  so  familiarized 
with  the  vision  of  the  iron  horse  and  whirling  coaches  as  to  aban- 
don his  custom  of  walking  to  the  gate  as  the  train  draws  in 
sight.  The  women  appear  at  the  windows  ;  the  inmates  of  the 
barn-yard  disappear  behind  the  out-buildings. 

Then  comes  a  sudden  stop  to  valley  scenery,  and  you  are 
passing  between  frowning  walls  of  clay  and  rock,  forming 
canons.  Then  across  the  stream  ascends  a  high  mountain — the 
ancient  stage-way  at  its  base,  and  oak  and  chestnut  forests  re- 
ceding upward — with  a  deep  ravine  in  its  front  holding  the 
waters  of  a  mountain  torrent  that  gleam  white  through  the 
rustling  foliage  of  the  steep ;  then  woods  of  pine  above  ;  then 
bare  precipices,  festooned  with  evergreen  vines  and  mosses,  set 
on  top  with  lonely  pines,  and,  above  all,  blue  unfathomable 
space. 

The  lower  lands  are  not  the  only  stretches  occupied  by  the 
mountaineers.  Rugged  steeps,  trending  hundreds  of  feet  up 
from  the  river,  become  smoothed  into  gentle  ascents,  and  on  the 
thin  soil,  rich  from  thousands  of  years  of  decayed  vegetation, 
log  cabins  expose  themselves  to  view  under  the  shadow  of  the 
mountain  still  rising  above : — lofty  perches  for  farms  and  fam- 


Marshall.  367 

lies;  unfortunate  situations  for  children;  no  schools;  no  society; 
no  people  for  companionship  outside  their  respective  families ; 
nothing  but  the  wildness  of  nature,  blue  skies,  lofty  peaks,  the 
roaring  French  Broad — and  the  occasional  fleeting  trains. 

Something  interesting  is  to  be  found  in  the  picturesque  village 
of  Marshall.  Its  situation  is  decidedly  Alpine  in  character.  Its 
growth  is  stunted  in  a  most  emphatic  manner  by  these  appar- 
ently soulless  conspirators — the  river,  mountain  and  railroad. 
The  three  seem  to  have  joined  hands  in  a  determination  regard- 
ing the  village  which  might  read  well  this  way:  "  So  large  shalt 
thou  grow,  and  no  larger  !  "  It  is  sung  by  the  river,  roared  by 
the  train  and  echoed  by  the  mountain.  Sites  for  dwellings,  in 
limited  numbers  however,  can  still  be  stolen  on  the  steep  moun- 
tain side  above  the  town.  Such  a  location  is  unfavorable  for  a 
man  whose  gait  is  unsteady;  for  a  chance  mis-step  might  pre- 
cipitate him  out  of  his  front  yard,  with  a  broken  neck.  There 
is  no  lack  of  enterprise  and  prosperity  here.  The  tobacco 
interests  of  Madison  county  are  extensive,  and  this  village — the 
county-seat — is  reaping  wealth  from  this  source. 

A  continued  series  of  rocky  walls  and  dizzy  slopes  now  borders 
the  rail  for  mile  after  mile.  Their  sides  are  covered  with  pines 
and  noble  forests  of  hard-wood  trees,  and  ivy,  grape  and  honey- 
suckle vines  mantle  the  bare  spots  of  the  cliffs.  Stretches  of 
roaring  rapids  and  cascades  become  frequent ;  green  mountain 
islands  arise  in  the  center  of  the  stream  ; — it  is  one  stern  moun- 
tain fastness.  The  two  most  noticeable  cliffs  are  Peter's  Rock 
and  Lover's  Leap,  both  of  them  overhanging  the  old  turnpike. 
The  former  was  named  in  remembrance  of  a  hermit,  who,  as 
legend  whispers,  lived  at  its  base  before  the  Revolutionary  war. 
An  Indian  legend  has  it  that  two  crazy  lovers  leaped  into  the 
French  Broad  and  eternity  from  the  top  of  the  other  massive 
wall. 

Before  you  can  possibly  become  wearied  by  this  rugged  pan- 


368  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

orama,  the  mountains  on  the  railroad  side  of  the  river,  losing 
their  foot-hold  on  the  river's  margin,  draw  back,  leaving  a  wide 
pleasant  valley.  The  low  ranges  bend  round  it  in  picturesque 
lines ;  the  French  Broad,  with  majestic  sweep,  flows  through  it ; 
the  crystal  water  of  Spring  creek,  liberated  at  last  from  its 
cradling  wilderness,  passes  through  bordering  groves  to  empty 
into  the  larger  stream.  The  train  stops  at  a  railway  station. 
A  cluster  of  small  houses  stand  on  one  side  of  the  depot, 
and  a  little  farther  down  the  track  are  the  elegant  residences  of 
Major  Rumbough  and  Mrs.  Andrew  Johnson.  Across  on  the 
distant  heights,  can  be  seen  white  dwellings — mountain  homes 
in  strict  sense  ;  but  nearer  at  hand  in  the  center  of  the  valley, 
almost  wholly  concealed  by  the  trees  which  surround  it,  are 
visible  the  outlines  of  a  hotel;  it  is  Warm  Springs,  the 
largest  watering  resort  in  Western  North  Carolina. 

The  main  building  of  three  stories,  with  its  side  two-story 
brick  wing,  is  550  feet  long.  A  new  and  large  addition  has 
been,  within  a  few  late  years,  built  on  in  the  rear.  The  struc- 
ture presents  an  imposing  front  with  its  wide,  high  portico  sup- 
ported by  thirteen  white  pillars.  A  green  lawn,  with  graveled 
walks  and  driveways,  and  set  with  locust  trees,  lies  before  it  ; 
and  beyond  this,  in  view,  flows  the  river,  swift  and  deep,  again, 
churned  into  rapids,  and  at  either  end  swallowed  by  the  moun- 
tains. 

In  the  locust  grove  and  near  the  banks  of  the  French  Broad 
and  Spring  creek,  are  the  wonderful  warm  springs.  Bath 
houses  are  erected  over  them.  The  temperature  of  the  water  is 
from  102°  to  104°  Fahrenheit.  The  baths  are  invigorating  and 
contain  remarkable  curative  properties,  especially  beneficial  for 
rheumatic,  gouty,  and  chronic  invalids  of  all  classes.  The 
water,  although  highly  impregnated  with  minerals,  is  tasteless. 
These  springs  were  discovered  in  1785,  by  a  company  of  Ten- 
nessee militia,  while  in  pursuit  of  a  band  of  Cherokee  warriors. 


The  Warm  Springs. 


369 


As  early  as  1786  invalids  came  here  to  try  the  effect  of  the 
water.  Now,  in  the  height  of  the  summer,  as  many  as  six 
hundred  guests  at  one  time  crowd  this  fashionable  resort. 

Lately  the  Warm  Springs  property  has  passed  into  the  hands 
of  a  company  of  men  well  fitted  by  capital  and  experience  to 
increase  the  popularity  of  the  place,  both  as  a  summer  and 
winter  pleasure  resort  and  sanitarium.  Mr.  Gudger.  the  super- 


CASCADES,    NEAR  WARM  SPRINGS. 

intendent,  was  for  a  number  of  years  in  charge  of  the  State 
Insane  asylum,  and  is  consequently  well  adapted  to  the  business 
he  has  entered  into.  Great  improvements  are  being  made  in 
the  buildings,  and  every  convenience  added  for  the  welfare  of 
guests.  This  to  the  votary  of  pleasure :  The  next  to  the 
largest  ball-room  in  the  state  is  here. 


1  370  A  Zigzag  Tour. 

The  falls  of  Spring  creek,  not  far  distant  up  that  stream,  are 
cascades  of  marvelous  beauty.  A  number  of  the  surrounding 
mountain  summits  command  magnificent  prospects.  Deer  can 
be  started  in  neighboring  fastnesses  and  driven  to  the  river.  As 
a  bridge  spans  the  stream  directly  before  the  hotel,  the  pictur- 
esque spots  on  the  opposite  bank  can  be  reached.  The  famous 
Paint  Rock  is  six  miles  below  The  spot  is  well  worth  visit- 
ing. It  is  an  immense  wall  of  granite  arranged  in  horizontal 
layers  projecting  over  each  other  in  irregular  order  and  tower- 
ing in  weird  proportions  above  the  road,  which  lies  close  at  its 
base  between  it  and  the  river.  The  rocks  present  dark  red 
faces,  and  it  is  from  the  natural  coloring  that  the  name  is  taken. 
On  some  of  the  smooth-faced  layers  black-lettered  names  can  be 
deciphered  ;  some  left  by  Federal  soldiers  who,  during  the  war, 
swept  around  this  bend  and  up  the  river. 

Near   here  Paint  creek   comes   dashing  down   between   bold 
cliffs  to  empty  into  the  French  Broad.      A  toll-gate  on  its  banks 
bars  the  way,  and  over-head  looms  Paint  mountain,  whose  sum- 
mit, bearing  the  Tennessee  boundary  line,  is  wound  round  by 
the  road  towards  Greenville,  the  old  home  of  Andrew  Johnson. 
From  the  railroad  between  Warm  Springs  and  Wolf  creek, 
in  Tennessee,  glimpses  of  some  of  the  wildest  scenery  of  the 
French   Broad   can  be  obtained.      Cliffs   three  hundred   feet  or 
more   in  height   lean   dizzily   over  the  river.      The   most  note- 
worthy  of   these    rocky   ramparts   are  termed   the   Chimneys. 
They  are  lofty,  piled-up,  chimney-like  masses  of  stone  standing 
out  before  bare  walls  of  the  same  rocky  exterior.      At  the  first 
bridge  below  the  Springs,  Nature  has  wrought  a  terrific  picture 
of  the   sublime.      The  river    runs  white-capped  and   sparkling 
below ;  the  wild  tremendous  fronts  of  rocky  mountains,  seared 
with   ravines  frowning  with   precipices   and   ragged  with  pines, 
close    around.      Bending    in  sharp   curves,   the   railroad    pene- 
trates the  picture,  leaps  the  long  iron4  bridge  and  disappears. 


TABLE  OF  ALTITUDES. 


SMOKY   MOUNTAINS. 


Mount  Buckley 

Clingman's  Dome 

Mount  Love 

Mount  Collin-s 

Road  Gap  into  Tenn 

Mt.  Guyot  (Bull-head  Group). . . 

Roan,  High  Knob 

Beech  Mountain 

Elk  Knob 

BALSAM  MOUNTAINS. 

Soco  Gnp 

Amos  Plott  ( Junaluskas) 

Lickstone 

Deep  Pigeon  Gap 

Great  Divide 

Old   Bald 

Devil's  Court-House 

Shining  Rock 

Cold  Mountain 

Pisgah 


BLUE   RIDGE. 

.6,599     Fisher's  Peak,  state  line 3»S7O 

.6,660     Blowing  Rock  mountain 4,090 

.6,443     Blowing  Gap 3.779 

.  6, 188     Grandfather 5, 897 

.5,271     Hanging  Rock 5,224 

.6,636     Humpback,   Mt.  Washington 4,288 

.6,306     High  Pinnacle 5, 701 

.5,541     Swannanoa  Gap 2.657 

•5.574     Bald   Mountain 3.834 

Sugarloaf 3>973 

Chimney  Rock  Hotel 1.059 

.4,341     Saluda  Gap 2,300 

6,278    Jones'  Gap 2,925 

.5,707     Caesar's  Head -.3,225 

.4,907     Rich  Mountain 3.788 

.6,425     Great  Hogback 4,792 

.5,786     Whiteside 4,907 

6,049     Black   Rock 4,364  . 

.5,988     Fodderstack 4,607 

.6,063     Chimney  Top. 4,563 

.5,757     Satoola'. 4,506 

Rabun  Gap 2, 168 


BLACK  MOUNTAINS. 


Mitchell's  Peak... 

Potato   Top 

Yeates'  Knob 

Mount  Gibbs 

Balsam  Cone 

Bowlen's   Pyramid 


LINVILLE    MOUNTAINS. 


Short  Off 

Table  Rock 

Hawksbill . . 


Hibriten  (Brushy  Mountains.)... 
King's  Mountain 


.6,711 

6,393 

•5.975 


.6,671 
.6,348 


•3>*°5 
.3,918 
.4-090 

.2,242 
.1,650 


CRAGGY    RANGE. 

Big  Craggy 6,090 

Bull's  Head 5-935 

Craggy  Pinnacle 5,945 

Tryon  Mountain 3>237 


SOUTH  MOUNTAINS 

Propst's  Knob 3,022 

Hickory  Nut  Mt 3,306 

Ben's  Knob .  .2,801 


Pilot  Mountain .  2,435 


372 


Tables. 


NANTIHALA   MOUNTAINS. 


COWEE    MOUNTAINS. 

Yellow  Mountain 5>!33 

Cowee  Old  Bald „ 4.977 

Rich  Mountain 4,691 


Rocky  Bald   5,323 

Wayah 5,494 

Nantihala  Gap 4, 158 

Picken's  Nose 4,926  Cheowah  Maximum 4,  996 


VALLEY  RIVER    MOUNTAINS. 

Medlock  Bald : 5,258 

Tusquittah   Mountain 5>3I4 

VILLAGES. 

Asheville 2, 250 

Hendersonville 2, 167 

Brevard (about)  2,150 

Waynesville 2,756 

Marshall 1,647 

Burnsville 2, 840 

Bakersville (about  )2, 550 

Boone 3>242 

Jefferson 2,940 

Murphy i&A 

Valleytown . .  1,911 

Franklin 2, 141 

Charleston 1.747 

Quallatown i,979 

Webster 2,203 

Warm   Springs 1,326 


Little  Tennessee  (Tennessee  line) 1,114 

Big  Pigeon  (Fine's  Creek) 2,241 

Big  Pigeon  (Forks)   2,701 

French  Broad  (Tennessee  line) 1,264 

Watauga  (Tennessee  line) .2, 131 

Broad  river  (Reedy  Patch).- J.473 

Mouth  Little  river 2,088 

Mouth  Valley  river i  ,514 

\v.  N.  c.  R.  R. 

Salisbury „ 760 

Morganton „ i,  140 

Marion I,425 

Swannanoa  Tunnel 2,510 

Swannanoa  Mouth !>977 

Richland  Creek  (Waynesville) 2,608 

Balsam  Gap 3i4JI 

Scott's  Creek  (mouth) 1,986 

Nantihala  River 1,682 

Red  Marble  Gap 2,686 


From  Professor  W.  C.  Kerr's  report  of  altitudes.  The  railroad  altitudes  were  obtained 
from  J.  W.  Wilson.  Only  those  mountain  and  valley  heights  of  particular  interest  are 
given. 


AREA  OF   COUNTIES. 

(From  State  Report.) 


Square  miles.  Square  miles. 

Alleghany 300     Henderson 360 

Ashe 450    Jackson 960 

Buncombe 620     McDowell 440 

Burke 400     Macon 650 

Caldwell 450     Madison 450 

Catawba , 370     Mitchell 240 

Cherokee 500     Polk 300 

Clay f, 160    Swain 420 

Cleaveland 420    Transylvania 330 

Forsyth 340     Watauga „ 460 

Graham .    250     Yadkin 320 

Haywood 740     Yancey 400 


Tables.  373 

POPULATION  OF  THE  WESTERN  COUNTIES,    1880.* 


Total.        Colored. 

Alleghany 5,486 519 . . 

Ashe 14.437...-     966. 

Buncombe 21,909 ....  3,487 

Burke , 12,809 2,721.  . 

Caldwell 10,291 1,600.  . 

Catawba 14,946 ....  2, 477 . . 

Cherokee ,  .   8, 182 ....     386 

Clay 3.316. 

Cleaveland 16,571 . 

Graham 2>33S  • 

Haywood 10, 171 . 

Henderson 10,281 . 

Jackson   7,343. ...     752. 

McDowell 9,836 1,897. 

Macon 8.064 669 . 

Madison 12, 810 459 . 

Mitchell  . , 9,435  •  •  •  •     503 . 

Polk 5,062 1,144. 

Rutherford 15, 198 3, 288 . 

Surry 13,302 2  ,075 . 

Swain 3,784 550. 

Transylvania 5-34° 51?- 

Watauga 8, 160 746. 

Wilkes 19,181 1,924. 

Yancey 7,694 325. 


.  141. 
.2,871. 
.  212. 

•  484. 
.1,388. 


County-seats. 

.  Gap  Civil 

Jefferson 

.Asheville 2 

.  Morganton 

.  Lenoir 

.  Newton 

.Murphy. .; 

.Hayesville.... 

.Shelby \\ 

.  Robbinsville 

.  Waynesville 

.  Hendersonville 

.  Webster ..." 

.  Marion 

.Franklin 

Marshall 

.  Bakersville 

Columbus 

.  Rutherfordton 

.  Dobson \ 

.  Charleston 

.  Brevard 

.  Boone 

.Wilkesboro ". 

.  Burnsville.. . 


196 
116 
861 
206 

583 
170 
in 
990 

47 
225 

554 
107 
372 
207 

!75 
476 


223 
167 

200 


*  United  States  Census  Report 


MONTHLY,  SEASONAL,  AND  ANNUAL  MEAN  TEMPERATURES  FOR  A 
PERIOD  OF  YEARS  AT  SEVEN  STATIONS,  AND  THEIR  AVERAGE  FOR 
THE  WESTERN  DIVISION. 


Name  of  Station. 

January 

February  .  .  . 

March  

I 

£ 
y 
'< 

C 

5 

rc 

c_ 
< 

^ 

1 
£ 

September.  . 

£ 

o^ 

o_ 

November.  . 

December  .  . 

1 

3 
Jq 

[Summer.  .  .  . 

|Aulumn.  .  .  . 

% 

5 

a 

1 

f  No.  Years 
[Observations 

Asheville 

37 
34 

ii 

36 
38 

29 
36 

39 
37 
34 
42 
40 
42 
33 
39 

45 
38 
*6 

45 
45 
45 
46 
4i 

52 
54 
49 

54 
56 
56 
52 

53 

63 
6  1 

63 
66 

65 
f 

t>2 

69 
66 

7° 
73 
71 
64 
69 

74 

7- 
69 

7° 

76 

74 
71 
71 

7  i 

74 
70 

7° 
73 
72 
69 
71 

66 
65 

6s 
67 
66 
61 
64 

53 
5o 

52 

55 
53 
49 
^i 

43 
4? 
34 
42 
43 
41 
48 

4i 

37 
36 
30 
4i 

I 

29 
36 

53 
5i 
47 
54 

ft 

52 

S2 

72 
71 
68 
70 

74 
72 
68 
7° 

54 

48 

53 
55 
53 
53 

S2 

38 
36 
32 
40 
38 
39 
30 
37 

54-3 

52-5 
48.7 

54-4 
55-5 
55-2 
5°-7 

53-i 

6K 

i 

2 

L 

i 

Bakersville  .                      

Boone  .                                            

Franklin 

Lenoir       

Murphy..                          

Highlands..                                   .        ... 

Western  Division  

374 


Tables. 


AVERAGE  MONTHLY,  SEASONAL  AND  ANNUAL  MAXIMA,  MINIMA  AND 
RANGE  OF  TEMPERATURE  FOR  A  PERIOD  OF  YEARS  AT  FOUR 
STATIONS  AND  FOR  THE  WESTERN  DIVISION. 


Name  of  Station. 

|  January  

February  .  .  . 

K 

P 

ri 

•zr 

> 

-g 

§ 

9 

<—  i 
c 

3 
ft 

£ 
'< 

> 

C 

crq 
e 

1  September. 

|  October  .  .  . 

November. 

December  . 

c/. 

T3 

5 

crc; 

|  Summer  

|  Autumn  ....  c 

Winter  

K^ 

rc 
P 

1  No.  years  ^J 
1  observations,  j  ^° 

65 
10 

55 

71 

12 

59 

Asheville  < 
Boone  < 

Maxima  
Minima  
Range  

63 
10 

53 

80 
30 
5° 

8283 

42'49 
40:34 

86 
61 

25 

85 

57 

28 

81 
45 
36 

75 
29 

46 

68 
17 
51 

63 
7 
56 

82 

12 

7° 

86 
49 
37 

81 

17 

64 

65 
58 

86 
7 
79 

Maxima  
Minima  . 

57 
•4 
53 

58 
6 
52 

64 
ii 

53 

73 
26 

47 

758i 

38:50 
37J3I 

*t 

5/ 

27 

82 

53 
29 

79 
40 

39 

74 
32 
42 

55 
30 
25 

51 

22 
29 

75 
ii 
64 

82 
5° 
S2 

79 
30 
49 

58 
4 
54 

82 

4 

78 

2 

Lenoir  < 
Murphy  < 

Western  Division  < 

Range  .... 

Maxima  
Minima  
Range  

62 
t4 

48 

66 
15 
51 

7i 
M 

57 

82 
36 
46 

85 

47 
38 

88 
58 
30 

9i 
66 

25 

87 

52 
35 

85 
50 

35 

82 

29 
53 

67 
18 

49 

63 

9 
54 

85 
36 
49 

9i 
5° 
4i 

85 
18 
67 

66 
9 
57 

91 
9 
82 

3 

Maxima  
Minima. 
Range  

64 
9 

55 

67 
T4 
53 

73 
15 
58 

81 

35 
46 

88 
47 
50 

88 
59 
29 

89 
64 

25 

89 

57 
32 

84 
44 
42 

78 
24 
54 

65 
ii 

54 

74 
6 
68 

88 
r5 

73 

89 
57 
S2 

86 
ii 
75 

74 
6 
68 

89 
83 

3 

Maxima  
Minima  
Range  

61 

8 

53 

63 

10 

53 

69 

1 

78 
3° 
48 

82 
42 

43 

84 
53 
3i 

86 
61 
2.5 

8? 
56 
31 

82 
43 
39 

76 
28 
48 

63 
19 
44 

63 

12 

51 

82 

*3 

69 

87 
53 
^4 

82 
19 

63 

63 
8 

55 

87 
8 

79 

COMPARATIVE  TABLE  OF  MEAN  TEMPERATURES. 


Year. 

Spring. 

Summer. 

Autumn. 

Winter. 

Western   Division  
Asheville 

53 

54 

52 

70 

52 

54 

37 

q8 

Bakersville 

36 

Paris    France  

ri 

51 

6c 

52 

08 

Dijon    France 

r?o 

CO 

Venice   Italy  . 

ETC 

cc; 

56 
56 

q8 

Boone,  North  Carolina  

49 

47 

68 

48 

S^ 

Munich,   Germanv  

48 

I 

64 

49 

32 

The  tables  of  temperature  given  are  taken  from  Dr.  Kerr's  State  Geologicaljeport. 


McINTOSH  &  CO,, 


DEALERS   IN 


DRUGS,  MEDICINES,  AND  CHEMICALS 

PAINTS,   OILS,   VARNISHES,   DYE-STUFFS, 
ETC.,   CHOICE  PERFUMES. 

PURE    WINES    AND    LIQUORS 

FOR  MEDICINAL  USE. 

FRENCH  AND  AMERICAN   POLISHED 

PLATE  AND  WINDOW  GLASS. 
FINE  CANDIES  AND  DRUGGISTS  SUNDRIES. 

Highest  Cash  Price  Paid  for  ROOTS,  HERBS,   SEEDS,  etc. 
WAYNESVILLE,    N.   C. 

379 


HAY  WOOD 
WHITE  SULPHUR  SPRINGS 

Near  Waynesville,  N.  C, 

OPEN    ALL    THE    YEAR. 

THE  MOST  PICTURESQUE  PLACE  IN  NORTH  CAROLINA 
2,716  Feet  Above  Tide-water;  32  Miles  West  of  Asheville^ 

A  DELIGHTFUL  SUMMER  RESORT, 

IN  THE  VERY  MIDST  OF  THF  GREAT  BALSAM  MOUNTAINS.    TERMS  REASONABLE. 
PLACES  OF  INTEREST  AROUND  THE  SPRINGS. 


NAME. 

Altitude 
in  feet. 

Number 
of  miles. 

Waynesville,    C.  H  

2756 

I 

Love's   View  

2QCJO 

at  the  place 

Spring  Hill  

28^0 

at  the  place 

Mount  Maria  Love  (Rocky  Knob)  about  

t^OOO 

i 

Jonathan's  Creek   (trout  stream)  

qooo 

6  to  10 

Cataloochee  (trout  stream) 

2  CQO 

20 

Tennessee  Line 

2OOO 

•52 

Indian    Nation  , 

23OO 

2O 

Soco  Falls,  about  

4OOO 

16 

Soco  Gap,   about  

4250 

15 

Soco  (Buncbe's)   Bald  

62OO 

18 

Bunche's  Creek   Falls.  . 

4OOO 

20 

Scott's  Creek,  8  miles;  Balsam  Tunnel. 

Q2OO 

7 

Crab-tree  Bald,    about 

2 
OOOO 

foot  13,  top  16 

Chambers'  Mountain,  about  

5OOO 

9 

Pisgah  

5757 

18 

T   Lenoir's  Farm 

2800 

12 

Pigeon  River  

6  to  12 

Pigeon  River  Ford  

12^ 

Cold   Mountain 

606  q 

IO 

Lickstone  Mountain  (carriage  road  to  top) 

c;8oo 

7 

Caney  Fork,  Balsam,  and  Great  Divide.         

6425 

10 

Mount  Serbal  (Westner's    Bald) 

OIOO 

8 

Mount  Junaluska  (Plott)                              

6225 

foot  3,  top  5 

Mount  Clingman,   about                                       

6690 

top  50 

Mount  Buckley,    about 

6650 

top  52 

Webster,  20  miles;  Franklin.                         

1900 

40 

Hendersonville.                                                         

2167 

45 

Charleston    Swain  County 

1700 

38 

De  Hart's  Springs         

1600 

48 

Micadale  

3000 

3 

Splendid  drives  all  around  the  Springs.     Scenery  not   surpassed,    if  equalled,   east  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains. 

W    W.  STRINGFIELD,   Proprietor. 

Waynesville,   N.  C. 


CESAR'S  HEAD  HOTEL, 

SITUATED    UPON 

CESAR'S  HEAD  MOUNTAIN      . 

A  spur  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in  Greenville  county,  South  Car- 
olina, 3,500  feet  above  Tide  Water.  Climate  unsurpassed, 
Scenery  varied,  grand,  and  beautiful.  The  thermometer  ranges 
during  the  hot  months  from  =50°  to  70°.  Freestone  and  Chaly- 
beate Springs.  Temperature  52°  to  54°.  Twenty-six  miles 
north  of  Greenville,  South  Carolina,  and  twenty- four  miles 
west  of  Hendersonville,  North  Carolina.  Easily  reached  by 
daily  hacks  from  either  place,  over  good  roads,  which  have 
been  lately  improved.  A  Post  Office  at  the  Hotel,  and  daily 
mail.  Accommodations  good,  having  been  enlarged  and  im- 
proved. Terms  moderate.  Billiards,  nine-pins,  and  other 
amusements  for  guests.  A  resident  physician.  See  author's 
notice. 

F.   BARTOW  BEVILLE,  E.  M.  SEABROOK, 

SUPERINTENDENT.  PROPRIETOR. 

381 


Standard 

SILEXT 
ss 
UBST 


Pre-eminently  Popular. 
WHEELER  .V    \V  I  L  5      v    - 
Standard  Sewing  Machine, 
ILEXT. 

BSTAXTIAL 
Wheeler  &  Wilson  Manufacturing  Company, 

NORTH  -T..  ASHEYILLE.  X.   C. 

SOMETHING    CHOICE! 

Lovers  of  the  weed,  who  enjoy  a  really  good  smoke,  should 
always  ask  for  HOLMES*  GOLDEN  LEAF.  HOLMES  LAND  OF  THE 
SKY.  HOLMES'  PISGAH.  These  brands  are  manufactured  from 
the  celebrated  Tobaccos  grown  in  Western  North  Carolina,  free 
from  all  perfumeries,  adulterations,  or  impurities,  and  are  prized 
for  their  SUPERB  SMOKING  QUALITIES.  Ask  your  dealer  for 
HOLMES'  TOBACCO  and  take  no  other.  Orders  from  the  Trade 
Solicited.  R  I.  HOLMES  &  Co..  Proprietors. 

Ashevilie.  X.  C. 


u.      ,  ri 

CHARLESTON  HOTEL,  SWAIN  COUNTY. 

A  comfortable  house  neatly  furnished. 
HEADQUARTERS  fer    TOURISTS  and   BUSINESS  MEX 


THE  FRANKLIN  HOUSE. 
FRANKLIN.   MACON  COUNTY.   NORTH  CAROLI: 

for  aD  trrcOers;  a  good  livery  stable 

.       H;:^-   i-  :  ~  -.r.  :•:  •.;':.:  ir.i  ;.:li 
D.  C  ^GHAM.  proprietor. 


THE 

\A/i  STERN  NORTH  QAROLINA  J^AILROAD 

TS:  At  Salisbury.  N.'c,  with  the  Richmond  and  Danvffle  Railroad.  At 
Statesvffle,  X.  C.,  with  the  Charlotte,  Columbia  a*d  Augusta  Railroad.  Also,  at  Paint 
Rock,  with  the  East  Tennessee,  Virginia  and  Georgia  Railroad.  Thus  offering  an  All 
Rail  RouU from  NORTH,  EAST,  SOUTH,  and  WEST,  to 

"THE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY." 

TRAVERSING  THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  SCENERY  ON  THIS 

CONTINENT. 


the  Summer  season,  Excursion  Tickets  can  be 
Purchased  at  all  the  Principal  Cities. 

A.  B.  ANDRE  V.  E.  McBI 

President.  Superintendent 

M.  SLAUGHTER,    General  Passenger  Agent. 

THE  HERREN  HOUSE 

Altitude  2,770  feet. 

A.  L  HERREN,  PROPRIETOR, 

WAYNESVILLE,  N.  C. 

House  new.  Located  centrally.  The  proprietor  will  give 
his  undivided  attention  to  his  guests.  Saddle-horses  and  teams 
furnished  guests.  Prices  moderate. 


M  D,  LEGGETT,  PREST. 
G.  W  STOCKLY,  VICE  PREST.  AND  TREAS. 
BUSINESS  MANAGER. 


WM.  F.  SWIFT,  SEC'Y. 
N.  S.  POSSONS.  SriT. 
W.  J.  POSSONS,  ASS'T.  SUPT. 

THE 


(£0. 


Late  Telegraph   Supply  Co.,  manu" 
facturers  of 

BRUSH  ELECTRIC  LIGHT  MA- 
CHINES, LAMPS  AND 

CARBONS. 

Brush  electro-plating  ma- 
chines and  apparatus,  and 
storage  batteries. 

Office  379  Euclid  avenue. 
Works,  Mason  street  crossing 
C.  &  P.  R.  R. 

CLEVELAND,   O. 

r.    s.  A. 


TURNPIKE   HOTEL 

BUNCOMBE  COUNTY,  N.  C. 

This  is  the  oldest  established  resort  west  of  Asheville.      It  is 

located  on  the  W.  N.  C     railroad,  and   amid    lofty    mountains. 

A  pleasant  place   for  .summer    sojourners    and    their    families. 

Mineral  and  free-stone  springs  on   the  farm.     Rates    moderate. 

JOHN  C.  SMATHERS,  Proprietor. 


WAYNESVILLE   HOTEL, 

WAYNESVILLE,   N.   C 

In    the    center    of  the  village.     A    new   building,   with   new 
furniture  throughout.     Rates  moderate 

JOHN  C.  SMATHERS,  Proprietor. 
384 


THE  NEW  FIRE-PROOF  TRACTION  FARM  ENGINE, 

MANUFACTURED  BY 

D.  JUNE  &  Co.,  FREMONT,  OHIO. 

WESTERN  HOTEL, 


(FORMERLY  BANK  HOTEL) 


ASHEVILLE,  N.  C. 


H.    K.    RHEA,    Proprietor. 


The  Western  Hotel  is  situated  on  the  Public  Square,  in  the 
very  center  of  the  city.  It  has  lately  changed  proprietors  and 
under  the  present  management  the  best  accommodations  at 
reasonable  rates  will  be  afforded  tourists  and  commercial 

travelers. 

385 


HOT  AND  WARM  SPRINGS  HOTEL 


WARM  SPRINGS,  MADISON  COUNTY,  N.  C. 

J.  H.  RUMBOUGH,  W.  W.  ROLLINS,  H.  A.  GUDGER,         WARM  SPRINGS  COMPANY. 


H.  A.   GUDGER,  MANAGER. 

First  class  Hotel  open  all  the  year,  as  a  great  summer  and  winter  resort  for  invalids 
and  pleasure  seekers.  Bathing  pools  unsurpassed,  temperatuie  102°  to  104°  F.  Fine 
Hot  Spring  for  drinking,  117°  F.  Accessible  by  railroad  from  Tennessee  and  North 
Carolina.  Resident  physicians,  beautiful  mountain  scenery,  mild  and  equable  climate, 
fine  fishing  and  hunting,  fine  band  of  music,  finest  ball-room  in  the  South  (just  completed), 
billiards,  ten-pin  alley,  croquet,  electric  annunciators,  new  and  full  supply  of  spring  mat- 
tresses— in  fact,  a  thorough  renovation  and  refurnishing  make  it  unsurpassed  by  any  water- 
ing place  in  the  South. 

This  powerful  Mineral  and  Electric  water  effects  speedy  and  radical  cures  in  almost 
all  cases  of  Chronic  and  Sub-Acute  Gout  and  Rheumatism,  Dyspepsia,  Torpid  Liver, 
Paralysis,  Afflictions  of  the  kidneys  Scrofula,  Chronic  Cutaneous  diseases,  Neuralgia, 
Nephritic  and  Calcelous  disorders,  Secondary  Syphilis,  and  some  other  diseases  peculiar 
to  females. 

The  railroad  depot  is  within  one  nundred  yards  of  Hotel,  and  passengers  landed  at 
that  point  from  Tennessee  and  North  Carolina.  A  Telegraph  Office,  in  communication 
with  all  points,  is  also  on  the  grounds.  Visitors  will  find  many  attractions  added  since  last 
season,  and  the  manager  will  see  personally  to  the  comfort  of  his  guests,  and  will  spare 
neither  pains  nor  expense  to  make  them  comfortable.  The  table  is  made  a  specialty,  and 
is  supplied  with  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season. 

RATES  OF  BOARD: 

Per  month  of  four  weeks,  $40  to  $60  according  to  location  of  room  and  accommoda- 
tions required. 

Per  week,  from  $15  to  $17.50. 

Per  day,  $2.50. 

Children  under  10  years  of  age  and  colored  servants  half  price. 

Special  rates  made  with  families. 

For  further  information  apply  to  H.  A.  GUDGER,  MANAGER. 

March  i,  1883.  WARM  SPRINGS,  N.  C. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


18NovT55PW 


JNTERLIBRARY 

OCT2B  1992 

:p  jJNiy.OPgAUF..BERK. 


t-0 


STAOffl 

1963 


LD  21-100m-2,'55 
(B139s22)476 


General  Library 

University  of  Californi 

Berkeley 


YC  28282 


